

Copightl^?. 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 


V.' 










* ( B^^V^bI 

■ 4 » ’ KfSSH 

^ T •' * • * ■ ^ «- • ^bL 







4 ' '''“'w 

.4 4 ' 


•. 


***"^ '.-v>;.>' 


S .• 



. I- 

* V 3^ ' r ^ ' ^- 

y^TP# i' **Vy 



... ,7 ,.-. v..,,y. . 


.1> 


Ky.^1^ ■ 

W''-''‘.; 

.« f* 


V**' VJ’ 4.'’ . f 

rv P . - ' •/» » * ; 

> * -i ,*»'* - 





/ 



...: *?/"(:■ 


■••^1 ’ -r ^ ’■' 4 ^-- 

^ X ^ -i ^ ‘ 






:<Tf 


-,AL - f'/, *..^.> ■ 

•i.^i 


*1 # • ■ IlK -i Tf 

I' '■- . - 

.^f - -1.1 wm -mm^ 'm , .*fcsi * / * •- ' >> ^ *1 * •‘. -. L . ^ . .* 

i Tv- '■ ■^ " 



m" 


> » * 


I' *-\ 


• » 


k; ‘ • 

K. . -^ \Y». 






npnRftSj# i^‘.\ ii 

■^:-r 

%' ' '■ -ti %*' . ».l*^SirBmi! 






C*^ i ^ f " ‘44. ‘ “ -T: 

j*r * » 

■ 'ii:> • 


f • 




[ «' 


i«< 





.J* '‘ ■ 

1 i 


•# '-4 V4l < k ^ f ^ J ‘ 1 - >' 








/.V ' . 4 * . 't .* ’ . 

W ' ■' 



~*'.'’7>* . *1i¥ P ^ krri/itf \r'!r '■ ’*v ^ 

X.. r 

^ 'W ■■.%' :?■*•;- ' “* 

''*•• ^ «Mil fc#J il. ^v 1 4* A » 


K ' ' <1 ^ '^^IB 


.■wl 


» 




II 


-e^-' 


-.^t 


tm, . 

« V, / • • 

i*f • 






, \' 


ir 




ia,*‘ JT- j 

^•v '., ^i ■ 

.1^ f ^ 


4.^. 


*' %■' 


V A: 






j ' 




-.^ i 




i -^r. 


•4 « 


>! 


’ • ‘ . 

_ _-. Jr V ., ’»/ * 


V rli 






^ J«* / 
•. t ^ 


U 


<•» 




» 'i f/ 


i> 




. r 


-'S 




V 




XKltt 




IV ' .^1 


:>«'■ . 














\ 


^ '»• I 


-r..-' -V 






'H 






• jj 


‘f'! 


n; 


r>*’ 'Ic 


B£r> 








t >: 






• • 






#n 






.- tiV 


t i 


. / - 


• I »» 


>f»- 




'■ r* .'^ ; ^ 


II. 


I 




:C 




1*^*' 


•*' 


4 « 


v*'^T=y, 


7’* 




•at -'/Fsai 


j'l 


4^’ 


►rxv.'*^ 


i'-’ '' *;v' -aaKT I 

' r ■ '- ■■MWL:Ji^»'^^V«i'/*<»'>iiV Hi,', ■:: ■ 'V, 


■I t 


'j«» 


:>.'^V 4 r 








vt^V 




V 


7?^ 


.K^ 










. ■ - t ■ 


.V > • 



/ V 




'’t*" \v •; ■- ■- .V' r ■ :v''r. 

■ :?^-r''' ', - ■■ ‘ '-r-: 

y*-'^-‘ "\- ' ’- ■■'• *! V'' ,.■• •’ 


• • •’ * 


J- 


\\- 


\ ■' 



*>rri , 




V • 






^ ' 


# 

si-: 


- y. 


•<». 


k->, 





7 ; 


»■ ' .„ . « > 


• • 
» 


'V 7 ' * 


r '> 


■* •t • 

» . f . ,y 


I 




* '^^.i 


tv 

fc 




“■/. ’ 

r 

* *>' 

V i 


f: 


•> 


« ’• A 

‘ -S! 


« ‘ V- 


. \ 


1 k’ - / ^ • .» 


■V'’ ■ 


I *. • 

* 




. i> . . 


•'. .'I 






«- 




-V 


m 

/ 

• ' ^ 



• . 


.e» 

r-" 


. !' 



i . 



. . f 






I 





t 


> 


burton (Kffbert ^tebenfion 


A SOLDIER OF VIRGINIA. A Tale of Colo- 
nel Washington and Braddock’s Defeat. Illus- 
trated. Crown 8vo, ^1.50. 

THE HERITAGE. Crown 8vo, $1.50. 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COMPANY 
Boston and New York 


/ 


THE HEKITAGE 


A STOEY OF DEFEAT A^^D 
VICTOEY 

BY 

BUETO^f EGBEET STEYE^^SOI^^ 

I > 



BOSTON AND NEW YORK 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
pre#, Camlirili0c 


1902 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 
Two Cowes Recsived 

SEP. 10 1902 

COPVWOHT ENT1»V 

^O. 

CLASS ^XXa No. 
c (p ^ o 
COFY 8. 


COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY BURTON EGBERT STEVENSON 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


Published October^ jqo2 



‘ 

s; 

C <. 
C ( 


' c c < C 
< \ < c < < < 

t < c t < < < < 

( c c < < < < < 


f t ( c C < ( « 

€ C < « 

c ( ( < ( < 

( < C F 

t c t c < ^ 



c < f 
< 

t c 



'i 


THE MEMORY OF 


THOSE FEARLESS MEN AND WOMEN 
WHO BRAVED THE PERILS OF THE ^VILDERNESS 
AND WON IT FOR THEIR CHILDREN’S 
HERITAGE 







CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGE 

I. Which begins at the Beginning ... 1 

II. The War comes to Virginia ... 8 

III. We entertain the Enemy .... 17 

IV. I WITNESS A Stirring Sight ... 27 

V. In which a Soldier comes Home again . 37 

VI. I DINE IN Distinguished Company . . 44 

VII. The Story of a Scar 57 

VIII. Enter Simon P. Allen .... 65 

IX. We are taken Captive 75 

X. Mistress Ruth sings us a Song . . 89 

XI. We find an Ally 96 

XII. Our Ally wins our Battle . . . 104 

XIII. New Friends 114 

XIV. I PLAY THE Fool 128 

XV. Westward Ho ! 140 

XVI. Another Parting 148 

XVII. The Peace Pipe goes out . . . = 161 

XVIII. Disillusion 173 

XIX. A Labor for Hercules 184 

XX. A Second Braddock 197 

XXL Awakening 203 

XXII. I FIND A Friend 211 

XXIII. Opportunity 224 

XXIV. Old Friends and New .... 234 

XXV. Battle 244 

XXVI. An Exchange of Courtesies . . . 254 

XXVII. Vengeance 267 

XXVIII. We start on a Long Journey. . . 275 


VI 


CONTENTS 


XXIX. I COME TO Philadelphia 283 

XXX. Meeting. . . 293 

XXXI. “Journeys end” 303 

XXXII. ... “in Lovers Meeting” . . . 316 

XXXIII. And Last 321 


THE HERITAGE 


CHAPTER I 

WHICH BEGINS AT THE BEGINNING 

In my father’s journal have I read often the 
story of that day, till it seems almost a memory of 
my own. Sunday it was, and the weather cold and 
bleak, with no promise in it, yet, of spring. Seven 
horses were hitched to the long rack beside the 
house, and near by stood a gig, which, by a certain 
sleek smugness, bespoke the doctor. Three negro 
grooms, in as many liveries, were gulping rum and 
wide-mouthed gossip in the kitchen; while their 
masters, in the library, also partook of spirits, 
though of a choicer brand. 

John Randolph had boated across from Caw- 
son’s, and taken horse at Westover; his cousin, 
the king’s attorney, had ridden down from Turkey 
Island, bringing his young son, Edmund, with him ; 
and Mr. Harrison had come up from Berkeley, at 
some sacrifice to himself, to honor this occasion 
with his presence, and prove himself, as always, 
the good neighbor. My father completed the 
group, which was quite a family party, but there 
was something amiss in the atmosphere — some 


2 


THE HERITAGE 


cloud which neither sweet-scented nor Jamaica 
could dispel — some nettle which left them all 
distraught and ill at ease, and my father most 
of all. He joined at random in their talk ; he 
paced nervously up and down the room, with 
hands gripped behind him, pausing every instant 
with ears astrain to catch some sound from with- 
out. 

His guests seemed to understand and pardon 
his uneasiness. Mr. Harrison stood at the win- 
dow, drumming absently upon the pane, and star- 
ing out across the fields, thinking, perhaps, of the 
like ordeal which he was soon to face. The others 
were grouped before the fire, with legs out- 
stretched to the grateful blaze, gazing dreamily at 
the flames through the cloud of smoke which arose 
from three long-stemmed pipes. The talk faltered 
and died away ; the barking of a dog far off on the 
river bank came with surprising clearness through 
the moisture-laden air ; and a moment later, an- 
other sound — the thud, thud of a horse’s hoofs, 
drawing rapidly nearer, and coming at last to a 
sudden stop beside the house. Mr. Harrison, 
looking from the window, saw a tall man swing 
himself lightly from the saddle, throw his bridle 
to the expectant boy, and run up the steps to the 
door. 

“ Chris ! ” called a voice. “ Chris ! ” and they 
turned to see him standing on the threshold. 

My father went to him as a child to its mother. 

“ Dear uncle ! ” he cried. “ How kind of you 
to come ! ” 


WHICH BEGINS AT THE BEGINNING 3 

“ Kind ! Pouf I I was coming to-morrow any- 
way, but I chanced to be at the Charles when 
your man came for Price. He told me what was 
toward, so I got to horse at once.” 

“That was like you,” and my father held out 
his hands. “ You would pause at no trouble, dear 
sir, I know well, to do a kindness.” 

The other caught the extended hands in his left 
one, for his right was missing, and gave them a 
warm, close clasp. 

“ And how goes it ? ” he asked. “ Is all well ? ” 

“ Well — yes. Well as can be, I suppose. But 
Price looks on in such a hideous, complacent way. 
Damn him! I felt like kicking him out the 
door ! ” 

The elder man looked down with warm sym- 
pathy into the working face before him. 

“ I know,” he said. “ I know. It is a time of 
trial no less for us, as I am to prove for myself ere- 
long. You have heard? ” 

My father nodded. 

“ Yes,” he said. “ Your wife has written to 
mine.” 

“ She is very happy,” went on the other simply, 
but with shining eyes. “ It has come to us after 
long years of waiting. I see you have other 
guests,” he added gently, recalling the shaken man 
before him to his duties. 

My father flushed, and pulled himself together 
with an effort. 

“ Pardon me, gentlemen,” he said. “ I can but 
plead my anxiety in excuse for my forgetfulness. 


4 


THE HERITAGE 


I think you know them all, Colonel Stewart. I 
am sure they all know you.” 

“ The Randolphs I know,” and he shook hands 
with them as he spoke. “ It was kind of you to 
show your interest thus. But,” and he turned his 
eyes upon the other, who stood by the window, 
“ yonder gentleman I have not met, though I T1 
wager I could call his name.” 

“Harrison, of Berkeley,” — and he came for- 
ward quickly, with hand outstretched, — “ and 
proud, indeed, to know you. Colonel Stewart.” 

“ The honor is mine, sir. I have often wished 
to meet you, but some unlucky chance has kept us 
apart. I knew your father well,” he added, “ and 
met him often at Williamsburg. I was a mere 
boy then, and he was very kind to me, as he was 
to every one. I cannot tell you how the news of 
his death shocked me.” 

A sudden cloud descended upon Mr. Harrison’s 
face. In truth, I think he never quite recovered 
from the horror of that disaster, which, in the 
flash of a lightning-stroke, deprived him of his 
father and two sisters, and left him heir to the 
great estate, though yet almost a boy. 

“ I thank you, sir,” he said, in a low voice. 
“ My father’s memory is very dear to me ; ” but 
before he could say more, the door was softly 
opened. 

“ Price ! ” cried my father, springing forward. 

Price went in and softly closed the door behind 
him. 

“ It is over,” he said calmly, with a professional 


WHICH BEGINS AT THE BEGINNING 6 


indifference perhaps somewhat assumed. “ How 
are you, my dear sir?” he added, turning to 
Colonel Stewart. “ Had I known you were com- 
ing over, I ’d have placed half the seat of my gig 
at your service.” 

But my father had sunk down upon a chair, 
dazed by the doctor’s words. 

“ Over ! ” he murmured to himself. “ Over ! ” 
and a cold perspiration broke out across his 
forehead. 

“Yes, over,” and the little red-faced doctor 
turned back to him with his bland smile. He was 
physician, let it be remembered, to much greater 
families than ours. “ I congratulate you, sir. 
You are father to as fine a boy as I ever set eyes 
on I 

My father’s face grew livid, and he brushed his 
hands across his eyes as though to clear away 
some mist that clouded them. 

“ Father ! A boy ! ” he stammered. 

It was Colonel Stewart who rose to the occa- 
sion. In two strides he was at the door, and a 
moment later returned, followed by the grinning 
major-domo, who must have foreseen the emer- 
gency and been prepared for it, for he bore aloft 
a tray, upon which a decanter and ring of glasses 
rattled. 

“ Fill ’em. Pomp ! ” he commanded. “ Quick, 
you rascal ! ” 

And the way Pomp filled those glasses was won- 
derful to see. 

“ Bumpers, gentlemen ! ” cried the colonel. “ To 


6 


THE HERITAGE 


the health, happiness, and long life of the heir of 
Wyndham!’’ 

The wine brought the color back to my father’s 
cheeks, and he was on his feet again. 

“ I thank you, sirs,” he began, so moved he 
spoke with difficulty. And then, as the sound of 
cheering came from without, he turned to the 
grinning negro. “ Pomp,” he said, “ brew the 
biggest bowl of punch you can — plenty of rum, 
mind you — bring my people in and let them cele- 
brate. God ! ” he added, as Pomp hurried away 
upon this merry errand, “to think it should be 
true ! May I see her, doctor ? ” 

“ Not just yet, but soon — soon,” and Price 
smiled again at his earnestness. “ She will send 
for you.” 

“ And she is safe?” 

“ Quite safe.” 

“ And it is a boy ? ” 

“ Yes — a boy.” 

“Colonel Stewart,” and my father turned to 
him suddenly, his eyes bright with tears, “ it is all 
so sudden — so wonderful — even yet I can scarce 
believe it — my cup is so full to overflowing — 
that it has quite upset me — quite driven from my 
head the thing I wished to say. Margaret and I 
had both agreed that if it should be a boy, we 
would beg you to stand godfather to him, and to 
permit us to name him after you.” 

“ With all my heart ! Why, I love the boy 
already, Chris ! ” 

“ Another glass, gentlemen ! ” cried my father. 


WHICH BEGINS AT THE BEGINNING 7 


his face alight. “We drink, this time, to the 
health of Thomas Stewart Randolph, and may he 
be worthy of his name ! ” 

A tap sounded at the door as the toast was 
drunk, and my father strode to it and flung it 
open. 

“ What is it, girl ? ” he asked, of the grinning 
wench who stood curtsying on the threshold. I 
think he feared some awakening, even yet. 

“ D’ missus wants t’ see y’, suh,” and the girl 
ducked her head again, with mouth from ear to 
ear. “ Wants t’ see y’ mighty p’ticklah, I reckon, 
suh.” 

“I’m coming,” and he paused only for one 
backward glance into the room. “ Excuse me, 
gentlemen,” he called, and an instant later was 
bounding up the stair to the room where the cause 
of all this commotion lay snugly in his mother’s 
arm, quite indifferent to the love and joy which 
had heralded his coming. 


CHAPTEK II 


THE WAE COMES TO VIRGINIA 

For me, my life commences with my seventh 
New Year’s day. Before that it is a blank. Of 
all those years I have no certain and definite re- 
collection — yes, there is one : of my mother taking 
me with her to her room one afternoon, kneeling 
with me at the bedside, and bursting forth into 
such a storm of agonized prayer and weeping as 
to quite amaze me. I know now that she had 
just received a message from my father, who had 
marched away with the first muster of Virginia 
troops, and who wrote her that he was just re- 
covered of a fever and escaped from the British 
lines at Charleston. That is for me the only 
glimmer of light in those eight years of darkness, 
crowded as they were with great events ; but the 
tide of war had rolled northward from Virginia 
long before and left the little circle of my life 
peaceful and unclouded. What prayers went up 
from the women for the safety of the dear ones at 
the north, what agonies shook them at tidings of 
battle and rout, what anguish of waiting as the 
list of dead and missing came in month after 
month, piecemeal, harrowing in its very incom- 
pleteness, what a cloud of misery settled on them 


THE WAR COMES TO VIRGINIA 


9 


as their cause went from bad to worse until it 
seemed lost hopelessly — of all this I was quite 
unconscious. But from the opening day of the 
year which saw America triumphant, my life lies 
spread before me clearly. 

On the morning of that day, then, my mother 
and I journeyed in the family coach the few miles 
which separated us from Berkeley, to spend the day 
with the family there. Now Berkeley quite over- 
shadowed our modest place at Wyndham in size 
and beauty and number of retainers, and I stared 
at it with all my eyes as we rumbled up the long 
avenue of taU Lombardy poplars, which led to the 
main entrance of the mansion-house, down the 
steps of which its kindly master was already de- 
scending to welcome us, with an agility surprising 
in so large a man. 

“ This is indeed kind of you, Mrs. Randolph,” 
he cried, as he threw open the coach-door before 
our man could reach it. “ Come into the house 
and see my wife — she will be delighted. And I 
declare,” he went on, espying me in the corner as 
he helped her alight, “ if there is n’t young Tom ! 
Come here, sir.” He reached into the coach after 
me and swung me lightly to his broad shoulder, 
and in this state I entered Berkeley. “ What a 
big fellow he is,” he added, as he put me down. 
“ I would my son Henry had a little of his bone 
and tissue. Would you like to meet my son, sir ? ” 

“ That he would,” replied my mother heartily, 
seeing me tongue-tied, and so he bore me away, 
leaving the ladies to their gossip. 


10 


THE HERITAGE 


“We shall find him in the library,” said my 
conductor. “ He is always there,” and there, in- 
deed, we found him, stretched out in the great 
window-seat, his head propped in his hands, intent 
upon a book. 

“ Henry,” said his father, “ I have brought you 
a visitor. Master Thomas Randolph, of Wynd- 
ham.” 

“If you please, sir,” I began, summoning all 
my courage, “ I ’m not called Thomas, but 
Stewart.” 

“ Stewart, ay,” and he nodded at me kindly. 
“ You were named for a splendid gentleman, my 
boy. Harry, come and shake hands with your 
neighbor.” 

The boy swung himself to the floor, somewhat 
unwillingly I fancied, and I saw that though he 
was taller than I, he was not half so broad, and 
when I took his extended hand I found it a mere 
bunch of bones. Yet the scorn which was spring- 
ing, boy-like, to my heart, was checked by a glance 
into his face, with its wide-open blue eyes and 
sensitive, slightly twisted mouth. 

“ I am happy to see you, sir,” he said, with a 
dignity which makes me smile now I think of it, 
but which then impressed me as quite like his 
father. 

“ITl have you called when dinner is ready, 
boys,” said the latter, and so left us to our- 
selves. 

For a moment we both stood in an embarrassed 
silence. 


THE WAR COMES TO VIRGINIA 


11 


“ What is it you were reading ? ” I asked at 
last, for want of something better. 

“ The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe,” and he 
got the book and brought it to me. 

Now, though I knew my letters well enough and 
had made some brief essays at reading under my 
mother’s guidance, I may as well confess that I 
had no love for books, but infinitely preferred idle- 
ness and the open air, and my companion saw 
from my helpless look at the page of print that it 
was quite beyond me. 

“ Shall I tell you about it ? ” he asked, and I 
nodded, with a new feeling of respect for him. 

We climbed together upon the window-seat, and 
he began to teU me the fascinating tale, reading a 
bit here and there to give it greater vividness, 
notably the description of the wrecking of the ship 
and the landing of Crusoe upon his island. 

“ Just think,” he said, “there he was on a des- 
ert island, all alone. No wonder he was fright- 
ened ! ” 

“ But what did he do ? ” I asked. 

“ You ’ll see,” and he went on with the recital, 
while I listened, spell-bound. We were just fairly 
into it when the summons came to dinner. 

“We will come straight back,” said Harry, lay- 
ing the book down carefully, face-open, to mark 
the place. “ That is, if you care to.” 

“ Of course I care to ! ” I protested, and we 
hurried away to have the meal over. 

The picture of that dinner-table has never left 
me. Our worthy host sat at the table-head and 


12 


THE HERITAGE 


opposite him his wife, still justly reckoned one of 
the beauties of the colony. At his right was 
my mother, and at his left the Keverend James 
Ogilvie, a florid-faced, stately man, but lately come 
to Westover parish. A dozen others there were 
besides the children of the house, for Mr. Harrison 
ever practiced the hospitality proverbial with his 
family, even to improvidence and the injury of his 
estate. A merry dinner it was, with plenty of 
laughter to season it, though the talk left little 
impress on my mind, for I was deep with my 
neighbor in discussion of the wonderful story we 
had begun. 

“ The boys seem to be friends already,” re- 
marked Mr. Harrison, smiling at us over his wine- 
glass. “ Truly, I shall be glad to see them inti- 
mate, madam, for Harry sticks too closely to the 
house. He needs the open air and your boy may 
drag him into it and away from his books.” 

“ Henry seems more like to drag Stewart to 
them,” answered my mother, laughing, “ for which 
I shall not be sorry.” 

“ Well, well, they may both profit by companion- 
ship. They are just at the right age, I think. 
Strange, is it not, how nearly the same age they 
are ? My boy is but a day the younger, you re- 
member.” 

The two mothers exchanged a glance of sympathy 
across the board. 

“ ’T is plain that Henry will be a scholar,” said 
my mother. “ He hath the look of one.” 

“And the intellect of one,” added Tutor Ogilvie, 


THE WAR COMES TO VIRGINIA 


13 


with some unction. “ His progress in the classics 
is surprising, madam, for one so young.” 

“ Dost wish to be a scholar, Hal ? ” questioned 
his father smilingly. 

“ No, sir,” spoke up the boy. 

“ What then, my dear ? ” 

“ A soldier, sir,” and there came a gleam in his 
eyes which contrasted strangely with his pale, 
thin face. 

“ A soldier ! ” cried his mother, aghast. “ Non- 
sense, sir ! By the time you are of age to wield a 
sword, I trust there will be no further need for 
soldiers in this country ! ” 

“ I say amen, Elizabeth,” but the father looked 
at his boy with a touch of pride. “ And yet, if 
his country need him, I trust he may not be found 
a laggard. And what would you be, Stewart ? ” 

“ A soldier, too, sir,” I said, though I confess I 
had wasted little thought upon the subject. 

“And who wilt thou fight, my boy?” asked 
Mrs. Harrison. 

“ The Indians,” I answered, with a flash of in- 
spiration. “ I T1 over the mountains and fight the 
Indians — if there be no British left ! ” 

I can yet see the horrified look my mother turned 
upon me at these bloodthirsty words, while Mr. 
Harrison and the other gentlemen grew red with 
laughter ; but their mirth was of a sudden inter- 
rupted, for the door was flung quickly back, and 
a man, not heeding the protestations of the hall- 
boy, strode into the room. 

“Pardon, gentlemen,” he said, looking about 


14 


THE HERITAGE 


the table with a quick glance, “ but I bear news 
that will not brook delay. That damned traitor, 
Arnold, at the head of a force of Hessians and 
Tories, arrived at Hampton yesterday to scourge 
our coast, and perhaps come up the river. Be 
warned in time, sirs,” and before any of us could 
draw breath, he had turned upon his heel and dis- 
appeared. 

Our host was the first to get his wits. 

“ Sid ! ” he shouted to the hall -boy. “ Sid, stop 
him ! Bring him back ! Damn it, will you have 
this house disgraced ? ” And while Sid sprang 
after the messenger, he turned apologetically to 
his wife. “ Pardon me, my dear, but the man has 
ridden all night, mayhap, and that he should leave 
here without refreshment would be black infamy.” 

“ Damn you, boy ! ” roared a voice in the hall, 
“ what d’ye mean by locking the door ? Open it, 
or I ’ll choke the key out of you ! ” 

Mr. Harrison sprang laughing from the table. 

“ Come, sir,” he said, entering the hall, “ Sid 
has exceeded courtesy, perhaps ; but you must 
take some refreshment ere leaving us — a glass of 
punch, if nothing more. ’T will delay you but a 
moment, and do you a world of good.” 

The gracious warmth of his manner was quite 
irresistible, and the courier permitted himself to 
be brought back into the room, where a great glass 
was brimmed for him in an instant. I saw that 
his eyes were red from riding in the wind, and when 
he raised his glass he could scarce hold it, so stiff 
and drawn were his fingers. 


THE WAR COMES TO VIRGINIA 


15 


“I can tell you nothing more, gentlemen,” he 
said, as he set it down with a sigh of satisfaction. 
“ ’T is believed, however, that Arnold’s aim is to 
take our stores at Kichmond. You will see the 
need of haste. Good-day, sirs,” — and he was 
gone again. 

For a moment no one spoke. Each looked in 
his neighbor’s face. 

“ So the war is come again to Virginia,” said 
Mr. Harrison slowly at last, “ and with Arnold at 
the head of the British. We must meet them as 
best we can, gentlemen. My place is with the 
governor at Richmond. Will any of you go with 
me?” 

They rose as one man. 

“ One toast more ! ” cried Parson Ogilvie, who 
knew good wine when he tasted it, and was perhaps 
loath to leave this so abruptly. “ To the American 
arms, success ; to traitors, confusion ! ” 

The toast was drunk, and they clattered from 
the room to don greatcoat and gauntlet, leaving 
us children breathless with excitement and the 
women sad enough. But Mr. Harrison was back 
in a moment to speak a comforting word. 

“ There is no danger as yet,” he said, “ nor can 
be for some days. Still, I think it would be well, 
Elizabeth, to put such things as you value in some 
secret place — advice I give you, also, Mrs. Ran- 
dolph. When a traitor leads hireling soldiers to 
invade his country, the rules of honorable warfare 
are like to be forgot. Good-by, my dears,” and 
the door closed behind him. 


16 


THE HERITAGE 


We crowded to the windows, women and chil- 
dren alike, to watch the little cavalcade spur away 
and to wave them adieu. Yet, as our coach rum- 
bled after them, five minutes later, my chief 
thought was not of war, but was a regret for the 
book lying face downward, neglected, on the win- 
dow-seat. 


CHAPTER III 


WE ENTERTAIN THE ENEMY 

We had not long to wait for certain tidings of 
danger. Two days later, Mr. Harrison himself 
rode up to Wyndham to tell us that Arnold’s ships 
had started up the James and that there could be 
doubt no longer that his aim was Richmond and 
our munitions there. 

“And I need not tell you, my dear madam,” 
he added, “ that you may incur some peril — cer- 
tainly much unpleasantness — by remaining here 
at Wyndham. Your cousin, St. George Tucker, is 
sending his wife and children up the Appomattox 
to his place at Bizarre, and he has asked me to 
offer asylum there to you and your boy.” 

My mother looked at him with gleaming eyes, 
from all the dignity of her five feet two. 

“The invitation was extended to your family, 
also, I suppose, sir ? ” she inquired. 

“ Why, yes — Tucker was so kind.” 

“And I dare say Mrs. Harrison has already 
started ? ” she asked with withering irony. 

The good man laughed as he looked at her with 
a somewhat sheepish countenance. 

“Well, no,” he said. “I tried to start Eliza- 
beth and the children off this morning — had the 


18 


THE HERITAGE 


coach around to the door, indeed — when she sent 
me to the right-about. We Virginia husbands 
have come to a sad pass, Mrs. Kandolph — we are 
but poor henpecked creatures.” 

“ Humph ! ” retorted my mother, “ ’t is only when 
you try to make us women cowards that we assert 
ourselves. Kun away from the British, indeed! 
When will they be here, sir ? ” 

“In three days at the utmost,” and he grew 
suddenly grave again. “ Really, madam, I believe 
it wiU be rash for you to stay. I hope yet to bring 
Elizabeth to reason. There may be no actual dan- 
ger, but there is much risk of insult, and every 
man of us is needed at the capital.” 

“ Go, sir I ” cried my mother with shining eyes. 
“ I regret only that I have no one to send with you. 
Believe me, we Virginia women know how to 
guard ourselves from insult I ” 

But I, who had been standing by with ears alert, 
was fairly bursting with indignation. Plainly they 
had forgotten me. 

“ I will guard you, mother ! ” I cried, with legs 
very far apart and chest well out, as I had seen our 
hostler stand sometimes, — an attitude which I 
thought very admirable and striking. 

Mr. Harrison would have burst out laughing, I 
think, but that there was something in my mother’s 
face as she bent over me which gave him pause. 

“Of course you will, Stewart,” she said, and 
when our visitor took his leave a moment later, 
to spur to the aid of our distracted Mr. Jefferson, 
he shook hands with me most kindly. 


WE ENTERTAIN THE ENEMY 


19 


We soon had news of the enemy’s advance, for 
Pomp, being sent over next day to Berkeley, 
brought back the tidings that Arnold’s fleet had 
reached J amestown, and after capturing a small bat- 
tery at Hood’s Point, had proceeded up the river. 
They reached Westover the next afternoon and 
there chose to disembark, to the hot shame of the 
Widow Byrd, who was thus forced to entertain her 
renegade cousin and the other British officers ; 
while their men, who deemed all patriot property 
fair spoil, left a mark on the great plantation 
which even the kindly hand of years could not 
wholly wipe away. At dawn the invaders formed 
in column and started westward along the road to 
Richmond. Luckily, Mr. Harrison’s mansion-house 
stood back among its grove of poplars some dis- 
tance from the road and so escaped pillage, save 
for the depredations of a rabble of scoundrelly 
hangers-on. 

But we were not so fortunate. Night was just 
falling when there came a clatter of horses’ hoofs 
and rattle of arms along the road, and peering 
through the window I saw a dozen officers in bril- 
liant uniforms pull their horses to a stop, dismount, 
and come stalking to the door, while two orderlies 
led the horses away toward the stables. Ere I 
could turn, almost, they had thrown back the door 
and come crowding into the room. My mother 
rose from her chair with blazing eyes. 

“ I am honored ! ” she began, and stopped, look- 
ing from one to another in a way that brought the 
red blood to more than one cheek. 


20 


THE HERITAGE 


“Indeed you are, madam,” laughed the fore- 
most of the invaders, a young fellow with fair hair 
and a pleasant face. “You are honored by the 
presence of distinguished company to-night. Per- 
mit me to present myself as Colonel Simcoe, of the 
Queen’s Hangers,” and he saluted her most grace- 
fully. “ These are my fellow officers. Shall I 
present them also ? ” 

“ I prefer to choose my own acquaintances, sir,” 
answered my mother tartly, “ and shall certainly 
not choose them among tyrants or traitors ! ” 

“As you please, madam,” said Colonel Simcoe 
lightly, “only you must choose us as guests to- 
night. From that, I fear, there is no escape. Our 
men are encamped on a creek above here — its 
name — its name ” — 

“ Four Mile,” I piped up, for the glory of his 
appearance had already dispelled much of my 
hatred for the British. 

“ Stewart ! ” cried my mother. 

“Ah, yes, thank you; Four Mile,” smiled the 
colonel, “and as this is the only house near by, 
here we must stay this night. We shall want 
dinner, beds, and breakfast, madam, and forage for 
our horses. I trust all this will be forthcoming 
without undue delay.” 

“ It had better be ! ” growled one of the men 
behind the speaker. “ You waste words, colonel.” 

Simcoe waved his hand to silence him. 

“ Permit me to conduct this business,” he said 
sharply. “ What say you, madam ? ” 

My mother saw the folly of resistance. 


WE ENTERTAIN THE ENEMY 21 

“ It shall be as you wish,” she said. “ Of 
course I have my opinion of cowards who war on 
women ! ” 

“’Tis not a pleasant warfare, believe me, 
madam,” responded Simcoe dryly. 

“ I say. Jack, don’t forget me,” drawled the 
man behind him. 

“Oh, yes,” said Simcoe. “One thing more, 
madam. My friend Johnston, here, is cursed 
with a weak stomach and would like a dish of 
tea.” 

It was a spark applied to the magazine. 

“ Tea, sir ! ” flamed my mother, so hotly that 
the gaUant colonel gave back a step before her. 
“ You insult me ! There has been no tea in this 
house for six years ! We be patriots, sir ! ” 

“No matter. Jack,” laughed Johnston. “I 
dare say I can get along without it.” 

“ I dare say, sir ! ” retorted my mother, and for- 
getting me in the excitement of the moment, she 
sailed out of the room. I was not sorry to be left, 
and tucked myself away behind the window-seat, 
where I could see what passed without being my- 
self too conspicuous. 

They piled their accoutrements in one corner, 
stretched their arms and legs like men cramped 
with long sitting, and crowded about the fire. I 
feasted my eyes on their red uniforms and gold 
lace and bright buttons, and thought what a fine 
thing it was to be a soldier. 

“The general should be here soon,” observed 
Johnston. “ What think you of him. Jack ? ” 


22 


THE HERITAGE 


But Simcoe merely shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Have you observed him, Jack ? ” the other 
persisted. “ How he eats his heart out ? ” 

Simcoe glanced at him. 

“Well?” 

“ He seems most at home among our Tory 
friends.” 

“ Yes. ‘ Pares cum paribus ’ — remember your 
Cicero, sir.” 

The other laughed this time, but checked him- 
self of a sudden, as the door opened again, to 
admit a very haughty gentleman followed by three 
or four others. Of only medium height, but hold- 
ing himself erect to every inch of it ; thick-set and 
muscular, with florid face, his eyes looked fiercely 
forth from under heavy brows, as though in chal- 
lenge, while his lips closed tightly above a long, 
projecting chin, bespeaking spirit, obstinacy and 
temper. 

“ Well, gentlemen, so you have found quarters ? ” 
he remarked, laying aside hat and gloves. “ I 
trust dinner will be soon served ? ” 

“ ’T is an even chance,” laughed Simcoe. “ The 
lady of the house turned up her nose at our red 
coats.” 

“Well,” said Arnold sharply, “ surely we may 
compel obedience ! ” 

“ I think we shall have dinner, sir,” answered 
Simcoe, with just a trace of color in his face. 

Arnold grunted and sat down before the fire, 
stretching out his hands to the blaze. 

“Do not make a virtue of leniency, Colonel 


WE ENTERTAIN THE ENEMY 


23 


Simcoe,” he said. “’Tis always mistaken for 
cowardice.” 

Simcoe shut his lips tight together and turned 
away without replying. I saw how the others, 
save two or three, drew back into the corners of 
the room and talked together there in lowered 
tones. The minutes passed and the man before 
the fire seemed sunk in reverie, until at last the 
door was opened again and an officer entered and 
saluted him. 

“We have a prisoner. General Arnold,” he said. 

“ Ha — a prisoner — good ! ” cried Arnold, 
coming suddenly to life. “ Where was he 
taken?” 

“ At the back of the garden here, sir, with some 
three or four others. They seemed to be recon- 
noitring the house. He is a captain, I think, in 
the rebel army.” 

For a moment Arnold said nothing, but sat 
looking into the fire with knitted brows. 

“ Bring him in,” he said at last. “We have 
some questions to ask him,” and in a moment the 
prisoner stood before him. 

I had never seen the man, and in my childish 
eyes his faded uniform contrasted sadly with the 
brilliant trappings of the others. Yet he stood 
there with head erect, and it was Arnold’s eyes 
that grew unsteady first. 

“ So,” said the latter, “ you have fallen into our 
hands, it seems. Captain ” — 

“ Simms,” said the other. “ I have no reason 
to be ashamed of my name, I assure you.” 


24 


THE HERITAGE 


“ You are fortunate ! ” sneered Arnold, eying 
him darkly. 

The prisoner merely looked at him with steady 
gaze. In one corner of the room, I saw Simcoe 
and his friend smiling together. 

“What force has Jefferson gathered to oppose 
us ? ” asked Arnold at last. 

Simms pressed his lips more tightly together, 
and his questioner’s face began to darken omi- 
nously. 

“ I would advise you to answer, my man,” he 
said, between his teeth. “ ’T will be the easiest 
way. What murderous scheme brought you to 
this house ? ” 

“ ’T was no murderous one,” replied the other 
calmly. “We wished merely to take a pris- 
oner.” 

“ A prisoner ? ” repeated the general, looking at 
him. 

“Yes, a prisoner — a damned traitor by the 
name of Arnold.” 

For an instant the figures in the room seemed 
graved in stone. Arnold’s hand quivered on his 
hilt, and I held my breath as I looked for him to 
cut the other down. Instead, he gave a short and 
bitter laugh. 

“ And do you know him ? ” he asked. 

“Oh, quite well,” Simms answered coolly. “ I 
was a private with him in Canada, ere he turned 
traitor. I would have gone to death gladly for 
him then.” 

“ And what would you have done with him had 


WE ENTERTAIN THE ENEMY 


25 


you captured him ? ” asked Arnold, his lips trem- 
bling strangely. 

“We would have cut off the leg that was 
wounded at Quebec and Saratoga,” said the pris- 
oner slowly, “ and buried it with the honors of 
war. The rest of him we would have hanged on 
the highest gibbet in Virginia.” 

Again was Arnold’s hand a-quiver, but he con- 
trolled himself by a mighty effort and even 
achieved a smile. 

“ You have a ready tongue, my man,” he said 
hoarsely, — “a ready tongue. See that it does not 
peril your head, which is already in some danger. 
Take him away,” he added to his aide. “ Put a 
guard over him and the others. We will deal 
with them in the morning.” 

The faded uniform vanished through the door- 
way, and Arnold fell again to gazing at the fire, 
while the others whispered behind him. His face 
seemed of a sudden old and gray, his mouth 
twitched from moment to moment, and he passed 
his hand once or twice before his eyes, like a man 
suffering. At last Pomp shuffled into the room to 
announce that dinner was ready, and as they clat- 
tered away to table the old rascal, who had stopped 
behind to snuff the candles, espied me in my 
corner and bore me off, protesting violently, to my 
mother. He came up to us again presently with a 
message from the general, asking her to grace 
their meal, and though I hoped she would accept 
and take me with her, she returned a curt refusal. 
Our food was brought up to us, after which she 


26 


THE HERITAGE 


cautioned Pomp to stay without upon the threshold, 
and bolted the door forthwith. 

She made but a pretense of eating, and as soon 
as I had finished, blew out the candle and put me 
to bed. She knelt by the bedside and folded her 
arms about me and pressed her face down to mine. 
I kissed her sleepily and closed my eyes, not doubt- 
ing that she was coming to bed also, but when I 
started awake, far in the night, disturbed by I 
know not what, I found her still sobbing softly on 
my pillow. 


CHAPTER IV 


I WITNESS A STIRKING SIGHT 

As I lay there looking at her, there came a sud- 
den burst of shouting from the garden, followed 
by a dozen musket shots. We sprang together 
to the window, but could see little. Here and 
there a dying camp-fire gleamed fitfully through 
the night, but the moon had sunk behind the trees 
an hour since and left a world of shadows. 

“ What can it be ? ’’ whispered my mother. 
“An attack? Yet Mr. Jefferson would hardly 
dare.’’ 

She peered a moment longer out into the night, 
then went to the door and softly called to Pomp. 

“ What is it. Pomp ? ” she asked, as his voice 
responded. 

“ D’ know, missus ; I ’ll go fin’ out,” he said, 
and shuffled away along the hall. 

The confusion without seemed to have subsided, 
but we could hear men moving noisily about in the 
rooms below, and presently there came a step up 
the corridor quite different from Pomp’s expected 
shuffle, and, in a moment, a knocking at the door. 

“ Who is it ? ” demanded my mother. 

“ ’T is Simcoe, madam,” responded the colonel’s 
hearty voice. “We must be moving early and 


28 


THE HERITAGE 


the general requests that breakfast be served at 
once.” 

“ I will attend to it, sir,” she said curtly, and 
when she had heard his footsteps move away, she 
opened the door. 

“ Dress yourself as quickly as you can, Stewart,” 
she commanded, “and come down to me in the 
kitchen. You will have to eat your breakfast 
there.” 

I wasted little time over my toilet, and hurried 
down the stair as fast as my legs would carry me. 
At the foot, I ran plump into Colonel Simcoe. 

“ Why, hello, youngster,” said he, stooping and 
picking me up. “ You ’re abroad early.” 

“ I thought I heard fighting, sir,” I said. “ Did 
our men attack you ? ” 

“ They are no such fools,” he laughed. “ ’Twas 
only some prisoners escaping.” 

“ Those that were taken last night, sir?” 

“ Ay — four of them.” 

“ Oh, but I am glad ! ” I cried, and clapped my 
hands. 

He looked at me queerly for a moment. 

“Well, you’re a bold little devil,” he said at 
last. “ I should like to see you say that to the 
general ! But I ’m not half sorry myself,” he 
added, and set me down. “ There, run along to 
your mother, sir, before you get into further mis- 
chief.” 

I went to the kitchen dutifully enough, but 
mother was busy, and the temptation to see what 
a real army was like became quite irresistible. 


I WITNESS A STIRRING SIGHT 


29 


Dawn was just breaking as I stole from the house, 
and in the first moment after I had left it, I had a 
great fright, for a big, burly, bewhiskered officer 
came clattering along the road, with four or five 
men after him, and the way they reeled in their 
saddles was quite frightful to see. He caught 
sight of me staring there at the roadside, and 
reining his horse toward me, lashed at me savagely 
with his whip, cursing fearfully the while, but I 
scuttled behind a tree, and so escaped the blow. 
I was certain he would come back after me, but 
after an instant’s hesitation, he spurred on toward 
the house. 

I stopped in uncertainty. Should I go on — 
should I go back ? I saw some camp-fires gleam- 
ing just ahead, and finally yielded again to curios- 
ity. I moved toward them cautiously, and suc- 
ceeded in concealing myself behind a pile of brush, 
whence I could observe the camp at leisure. The 
men swarming about the fires were busy preparing 
their morning meal, but from what I could see of 
it, it was anything but tempting, nor were the 
men themselves attractive in appearance. I caught 
them, of course, at their worst moment — the 
moment of awakening — with eyes sleep-heavy 
and faces swollen and uniforms bedraggled, still 
chilled with the night cold and sodden with its 
frost. I did not know that on parade with colors 
flying and bugles blowing, or in line of battle with 
a stern conflict impending, these very men would 
hold the eye and make the pulses leap ; so I con- 
cluded then and there that when I came to be a 


30 


THE HERITAGE 


soldier, I would be an officer like Colonel Simcoe, 
and wear a gold and scarlet uniform, gleaming with 
buttons and lace, and have as little as possible to do 
with these sordid creatures. Greatly disenchanted 
by first sight of an army, I made my way back to 
the house without seeking to view it further. 

The horses were being led around to the door as 
I reached it, and I lingered about to catch a last 
glimpse of our distinguished guests. They clat- 
tered down the steps presently, and swung to sad- 
dle with much creaking of harness. Below in the 
camp I could hear the drums beating, and knew 
that the advance for Richmond had begun. Colo- 
nel Simcoe spied me in the shadow of a tree, and 
came striding toward me. 

“ Shake hands, young man,” he said, bending 
down to me, “ and in our name thank your mother 
for her entertainment, which, if not the most hos- 
pitable in the world, was of the best,” and giving 
my hand a grip that left it aching, he mounted 
and rode away after the others. So that was the 
last I ever saw of this gallant gentleman who was 
destined in after years to reap so many honors. 
It was my last glimpse, too, of that other, whose 
name is still held in an execration perhaps not 
wholly merited. 

He was cursed right heartily in that first week 
of January, for he left such a wound in Virginia’s 
heart as she had not suffered since Dunmore had 
burned Norfolk, but at last he took ship and sailed 
away for England, already, perhaps, foreseeing the 
bitter end that awaited him. 


I WITNESS A STIRRING SIGHT 


31 


Let us hasten with the rest of the story. Spring 
and summer sped by quietly enough, with much 
visiting back and forth ; but one crisp morning in 
early October our neighbor of Berkeley rode up 
to our door and plunged at once into the heart of 
the business which had brought him. 

“ You know, I suppose, Mrs. Kandolph,” he 
began, “ that that old fox, Cornwallis, is caught 
at last at Yorktown, and must soon surrender ? ” 

“ Yes, thank God,” said my mother. 

“ ’T will be such a sight as may never again be 
witnessed in America. I am going to take my 
boy to see it, and I should be glad to have yours, 
too, if you will let him go.” 

“ Oh, mother ! ” I cried. 

She looked at us a moment with frightened 
eyes. 

“ Take my boy into the middle of the fighting ! ” 
she protested. 

“ Oh, not so bad as that, madam,” laughed Mr. 
Harrison. “We will view it all from a perfectly 
safe distance — I will answer for that. May he 
go?” 

I think his good humor and courtesy, as much 
as the passionate pleading in my eyes, won her 
over. 

“Would you like to go, Stewart?” she asked, 
and I knew from her look that she consented. 

“ Eight, madam ! ” cried our visitor heartily, as 
I threw my arms about her. “ You are right not 
to deny the boy.” 

“But you have not thanked Mr. Harrison, 


32 


THE HERITAGE 


Stewart,” reproved my mother, “How kind it 
was of him to think of you ! ” 

“ Thank Harry, rather,” laughed that gentle- 
man, as I turned to him. “ ’T was he protested 
he would not go without you — though I myself 
shall be very glad to have you, my boy.” 

“If you please, sir,” I said hesitatingly, “I 
should '^'e one thing.” 

“ Stewart ! ” cried my mother, aghast at my 
boldness. 

“ Let him ask, madam,” and he took both my 
hands in his. “ What is it, sir ? ” 

“ If Harry could take along his Hobinson 
Crusoe,” I began, but he stopped me with a burst 
of laughter. 

“ ’T is packed already in the seat-flap,” he said ; 
“ right on top, where it may be most easily come 
at.” 

So my cup of happiness was full to overflowing, 
and as we rolled away that afternoon in the great 
Harrison coach, I fear it was only my mother who 
wept at parting. That was an enchanted journey 
down the peninsula, with Crusoe for company and 
Harry’s father to help us over the hard places 
and comment delightfully upon the story, and I 
was almost sorry that it had come to an end when, 
toward evening of the second day, we rumbled up 
to Oldham, Mr. Samuel Harrison’s place, some few 
miles above Yorktown on the river. 

Such a sight as awaited us the next morning 
when we were led forth to view the contending 
armies ! From the top of a little hill near the bank 


1 WITNESS A STIRRING SIGHT 


33 


of the York, which the French had evacuated the 
day before in their advance, we could see a great 
part of their position quite clearly. On the right 
were our troops, with the artillery in the centre, 
near the commander’s quarters. There the French 
lines began, artillery first, and then the infantry, 
stretching to the very bank of the river below us. 
Away in the distance we could dimly sf^'^he Brit- 
ish works closely girdling the little town, and still 
bcjond this a half dozen British men-of-war lay 
anchored in the stream. Far out on the bay we 
could just discern the white sails of the blockading 
squadron of French ships. 

Mr. Harrison pointed out to us how our troops 
were ever creeping nearer and nearer to the Brit- 
ish works ; but he had more important things to 
do, so he left us presently, confiding us to the care 
of old Shad, and warning us not to leave the hil- 
lock where we were stationed. We had small 
wish to do so, and we sat for hours looking at the 
scene, until suddenly, away on the right, the artil- 
lery began to thunder. The fire ran along the 
line until every battery, American and French 
alike, was pouring shot and shell into the British 
works, as fast as the sweating men could serve the 
guns. The enemy replied but feebly, and after a 
time fell silent altogether. A dense cloud of smoke 
settled over the ramparts, and was carried slowly 
out to sea, where it lay banked against the horizon 
like a great thundercloud. 

We ate the lunch that Shad had brought for us, 
and spent the afternoon watching the cannonading. 


34 


THE HERITAGE 


Mr. Harrison came back to us as evening fell, but 
we tarried where we were with no thought of din- 
ner, for the French battery near the river had 
opened upon the British ships with red-hot ball, 
and presently we saw one of them wrapped in a 
torrent of flame. The fire spread with amazing 
speed, running along the rigging and to the very 
tops of the masts, while all around was thunder 
and lightning from the cannon. Even as we 
gazed there came a blinding flash of flame that 
rent the ship asunder, and ten seconds later a 
mighty roar, which told us the fire had reached 
her magazine. The blazing fragments fell back 
one by one into the river and disappeared. 

“Come, boys, we must be going,” said Mf. 
Harrison at last, and we followed him, awed and 
silent. 

Another British ship was set in flames next day, 
and in the three days that followed we could see 
our soldiers working like beavers in the trenches, 
which advanced every hour nearer the enemy. 
Meanwhile, all Virginia had come to see the spec- 
tacle, and on the morning of the seventeenth was 
gathered in a great throng exultantly watching 
the work of our batteries, when of a sudden the* 
firing ceased. 

A murmur of anxiety ran through the crowd. 

“ What is it ? What has happened ? ” asked 
every one, looking fearfully into his neighbor’s 
face. Could it be that, after all, the prize was to 
escape? Some thought that the munitions had 
run out; some that the French ships had been 


I WITNESS A STIRRING SIGHT 


35 


driven away and a great force under Clinton 
landed ; but presently came word that Lord Corn- 
wallis had had enough, and asked a parley. What 
joy there was that night at every board within 
reach of the good news, and in what mighty 
bumpers did loyal Virginia drink the health of the 
First of Virginians and his men ! 

How shall I describe the stirring spectacle 
which took place next afternoon ? To the right 
of the Hampton road the Patriot army was drawn 
up, veterans of six years’ service, with torn and 
faded regimentals ; while to the left, facing them, 
were the French, brilliant as toy soldiers. Down 
the road for more than a mile stretched this living 
avenue. Presently there broke forth a great storm 
of cheering, and I saw the tears rolling unchecked 
down Mr. Harrison’s face as he gazed at a man 
sitting a white charger, riding slowly along the 
line. 

“’Tis the general,” he whispered. “This is 
his hour of triumph and reward — God knows how 
he has earned it ! 

Near him, on a great bay horse, rode General 
Rochambeau, gorgeous in white and gold. He was 
no doubt a gallant soldier and great general, but 
there, was something in the quiet dignity of the 
other which caught and held the eye, which fired 
the imagination, which needed no ornament to set 
it forth. Men and women sobbed aloud as they 
saw him there that day, and cheered between their 
sobs like mad things, and thanked the God that 
had given him to America. 


36 


THE HERITAGE 


Then a great silence fell upon the crowd, there 
came the beat of a drum from the British line, 
and the conquered troops marched slowly out of 
their intrenchments, — seven thousand of them 
and more, — their colors cased, their arms reversed. 
Colors and arms alike were surrendered to the 
victors, while the regimental bands played a quaint 
old air, forgot these many years, “ The W orld 
Turned Upside Down.” 


CHAPTER V 


IN WHICH A SOLDIER COMES HOME AGAIN 

We were rolling homeward through the wood 
below Williamsburg, talking over the sight we had 
seen the day before, when there came the canter of 
horse’s hoofs behind us, and a moment later I saw 
a man in faded uniform peering in at the window. 

“ I knew I could not mistake this coach ! ” he 
cried. “ My dear sir, how are you ? ” 

Mr. Harrison looked up with a start. 

“ Why, ’t is Chris ! Shad, stop the coach ! ” he 
roared, and as it came creaking to rest, he sprang 
into the road and had the horseman by both hands. 
“ Dear boy, I asked for you among the officers at 
Yorktown, but was told you had been sent some 
days ago to Philadelphia with dispatches to the 
Congress.” 

“ So I was, getting back but this morning, too 
late to witness yesterday’s glorious spectacle. Now 
I ’m homeward bound, thank God, to stay till 
there is further need of me — which I hope may 
be never. I see you took your boys with you to 
see the end.” 

Mr. Harrison gave him a queer glance. 

“ My boy, yes,” said he, “ and one who is not 
mine. Come hither, Stewart.” 


38 


THE HERITAGE 


But my father had me in his arms before I had 
taken a second step. 

“ My dear boy,” he murmured, over and over 
again. “ My dear boy,” and he pushed back my 
hair and held my face toward him. “I should 
have known him, sir. He has his mother’s look 
— her eyes and mouth.” 

“ And his father’s spirit, I trust,” added the 
other gently. 

“ To think, when I left home, he was but a 
baby, sir, and now look at him ! Five years I ’ve 
been away, Mr. Harrison. But so were many 
others — our general for a year more than that, 
and leaves his army now to go to his son’s death- 
bed. Poor, gallant Custis ! He made them o-arry 
him out, sir, that he might see the surrender.” 

“ Yes, so I heard. You will ride with us in the 
coach, of course, Chris. Shad, take Major Ran- 
dolph’s horse.” 

“ I am not alone,” said my father, looking about 
him. “ I have another son, Mr. Harrison. Come 
hither, sir ! ” 

“ Another son ! ” repeated our neighbor, in as- 
tonishment. “ What do you mean by that, sir ? 
Don’t tell me — h’m ! ” he concluded abruptly, 
for there came riding toward us at my father’s call 
a boy some three or four years older than myself. 
He had halted at a little distance, and approached 
us now slowly and with evident shyness. 

“ Nonsense I ” laughed my father. “ Frederic 
is twelve years old, as you see. Dismount, sir, 
and salute this gentleman.” 


IN WHICH A SOLDIER COMES HOME 39 


The boy swung himself from the saddle and 
gave his hand to our neighbor. 

“ And this is Stewart, your brother,” continued 
my father. 

He gave me his hand in turn, and I took it 
timidly, noting as I did so the deep and cruel scar 
that marred it. The impression that he made 
upon me in that moment has lasted me through 
life as a just and true one. He was tall and 
blade-straight ; his hair, a dark chestnut, curled 
thickly over the erect head and low upon forehead, 
neck, and temples; and this, combined with the 
straight nose and arched lips, reminded me often 
in later years of an old Greek portrait. His eyes 
were a deep hazel, and as they looked at me now 
I fancied I saw dwelling in their depths, behind 
the shyness, a great kindness and sincerity. Then 
Harry was brought forward to clasp hands with 
him, and I saw the look, as of kindredship, that 
passed between them. 

“ Frederic will lead my horse, sir,” said my 
father, and climbed with us into the coach. 

“ Now out with the story, Chris,” said Mr. Harri- 
son, when we were settled, I upon my father’s knee 
with his arm about me, and very thankful and happy 
that I had found such a one to be my father. 

Of the story, as he told it then, I did not un- 
derstand quite all the details, but I shall tell it in 
its entirety as I know it now — as I have, indeed, 
told many things already. 

“ Well, then,” he began, “ when the Virginia 
troops were ordered south to defend the Carolinas, 


40 


th£ heritage 


1 went with my regiment, of course, and was, with 
seven thousand others, straightway gathered by 
General Lincoln into the trap at Charleston. 
There I was stricken with swamp fever, and was 
taken into the house of a man who had never be- 
fore seen me, but who cared for me tenderly as 
a brother. More than that, when the British 
marched into the town in May, without having to 
fire a shot, he concealed me and lied for me, and 
when I came again to my senses, I was lying in a 
very comfortable corner of his attic. He nursed 
me back to health, sir, and I am quite certain that 
I owe my life to Gerhart Kohlman and his son 
Frederic.” 

“Go on, Chris,” said his listener, “though I 
think I can guess what is coming, my boy.” 

“ When I had got my strength back, he smuggled 
me one night out of Charleston, where the guard 
was but loosely kept, since there was no longer an 
American army in the south, and I made my way 
to Sumter’s rangers. He is a Virginian, sir, and 
got his first lesson in fighting under Braddock. 
We harried Cornwallis, I promise you. And then, 
one night, there came sad news from Charleston. 
Near a hundred of her leading men had been taken 
from their beds by the British, and hurried aboard 
the prison ship in the harbor. Here some half 
dozen of them were tried by court-martial ; the 
others were sent to prison at St. Augustine. 
Among the former was my friend Rolilman. He 
got leave to write me a message at the end. There 
was no one else to whom he could appeal, and he 


IN WHICH A SOLDIER COMES HOME 41 


asked me to find his boy and care for him. The 
first I have done, and the second, God willing, I 
intend to do.” 

“ But what of the father ? ” queried Mr. Harri- 
son. “ Surely, when he is freed, he will wish to 
have his son.” 

“ The father was hung by that brute, Prevost, 
the morning following the court-martial. All his 
property was confiscated.” 

“ He was found guilty of treason, then ? ” 

“ He was found guilty of harboring a rebel and 
concealing him from the British troops, afterwards 
aiding him to escape from the British lines. The 
rebel was myself, sir.” 

“ My dear Chris,” spoke up the other quickly, 
“ forgive the way I spoke to you at first. I might 
have known that in this, as in all things, you had 
played the gentleman and man of honor.” 

He did not answer, and for a long time they sat 
silent, gazing from the window at the trees and 
meadows. 

“ There were many such cases,” my father said 
at last, “ and not all were on the British side, I 
fear. The Carolinas were so torn with faction that 
I think they suffered most of all the colonies. It 
was partly to get the boy I went to Philadelphia. 
Cornwallis had exiled there the wives and children 
of all those he hung or sent to Florida. There 
were dispatches to be carried to the Congress and 
replies to be brought. While waiting for them 
I made search for the boy, and found him at last 
working in a chandler’s shop, very faithfully, his 


42 


THE HERITAGE 


master said ; but I think that he was glad to come 
away.” 

We stopped that night at Tazewell Hall, and 
though its master, our cousin Edmund, was away at 
Philadelphia, we were made none the less welcome. 
Early next morning we continued our journey up 
the peninsula, and by noon had reached Berkeley, 
where we stopped a few minutes that my father 
might greet the lovely mistress of the place and 
drink a glass of wine with its master. Then he 
lifted me to the saddle before him, and with 
Frederic following, set off on the five short miles 
that divided us from home. As we turned into the 
road that led to the house, I could feel his arm 
about me trembling, and at last he pulled his horse 
to a stop. 

“Run on ahead, Stewart,” he said chokingly, 
“ and tell your mother I am coming. I had best 
not burst in upon her unannounced.” 

So I ran on obediently and up the steps to the 
door. 

“ Where is mother, Pomp ? ” I asked, as he 
opened to me. 

“ In d’ lib’ry, I ’specks, honey,” he answered, 
and I was off along the hall and in a moment was 
in her arms. 

“ Did Mr. Harrison bring you over ? ” she asked, 
as she kissed me. “ You invited him in, I hope ? ” 

“ No, mother. He left us at Berkeley.” 

“ Us ? Whom do you mean, Stewart ? ” 

Her face went suddenly white as she looked at 
me, and she clasped her hands against her heart. 


IN WHICH A SOLDIER COMES HOME 43 


“ He has come !• ” she whispered, and in the in- 
stant was on her feet and speeding along the hall. 
“ Chris ! Oh, Chris ! ” she cried from the door, 
and I caught a glimpse of a tall man throwing 
himself from the saddle, as she ran down to him 
and straight into his arms, to be clasped against 
his heart. 


CHAPTER VI 


I DINE IN DISTINGUISHED COMPANY 

Frederic feU so naturally into his place in our 
home that it seemed to have been awaiting him. 
It was not until he came that I understood how 
empty my life had been of comradeship. And 
now I had two comrades, for Mr. Harrison insisted 
that we both be sent to Berkeley to study, in com- 
pany with his son Henry, under the direction of 
Mr. Ogilvie, who was glad enough to eke out his 
somewhat scanty income in this way. And I soon 
grew to love the pale, delicate, wide-eyed boy sec- 
ond only to Frederic himself. He was often ill, 
and then I would sit and read to him hours to- 
gether. Many a time, too, we were guests at his 
father’s table. 

Then, if the day were fair, Frederic and I would 
start back afoot to Wyndham, taking our time 
upon the way, loitering along the river to watch its 
broad and placid surface, and seldom reaching 
home until darkness was at hand. Often, too, 
Frederic would bring with him a pistol father had 
given him, and spend half an hour, with curious 
pertinacity, in practicing at a target. He would 
sometimes offer me the pistol, but I tried to use 
it only once or twice, with such poor result that I 


I DINE IN DISTINGUISHED COMPANY 45 


was afterwards content to lie under a near-by tree 
and watch him, and wonder at this strange devel- 
opment of his character, which seemed so at vari- 
ance with the rest. He soon grew quite skillful, 
but never appeared satisfied with his marksman- 
ship, and kept doggedly at it so long as he had 
ball and powder left. 

Sometimes, on our homeward way, we would 
meet father in the fields, overlooking our people, 
and then we would stay with him until the day’s 
work was done. Those were busy days with him 
and anxious ones, as with many another planter. 
Six years of neglect had to be made good ; a for- 
tune, never great, now almost vanished, to be re- 
gained. There were fields to prepare and plant, 
cabins to rebuild, stock to buy, and what not. He 
went about the task cheerfully and hopefully, 
never doubting his ability to set things right again 
in time, but as the years passed, there came certain 
wrinkles about his mouth and on his brow that war 
had never planted there. ' 

We, too, were not without our occasional feasts 
and merry-makings, and one in especial do I re- 
member. It was nearly the last of May, and rain, 
long delayed and anxiously awaited, had set in 
heavily toward evening and continued all the night. 
The house was astir long ere daybreak, and we 
were called with the others. 

“No lessons to-day, boys,” said father, as we 
appeared at table. “ I ’ll need your hands, as well 
as those of every other creature on the place, to 
get the plants out. Come, sit down.” 


46 


THE HERITAGE 


Down we sat and bolted our breakfasts, happy 
enough at the prospect of sharing in the day’s busi- 
ness, and presently we journeyed forth together to 
the broad field where overseer and laborers — men, 
women, and children — awaited the master’s com- 
ing. The sun, just peeping over the eastern trees, 
revealed how carefully the field had been prepared 
with its long rows of mounds, each ready to receive 
its plant. 

“Are you ready. Bush?” asked father of the 
overseer, an old negro grown gray in the service of 
mother’s family. 

“ All ready, suh.” 

“ All right, then ; go ahead,” and at the word, 
two hundred hands began the work of planting. 
The young plants were lifted carefuUy from the 
seed-beds, where they had been growing for nearly 
five months past, protected from the cold, and car- 
ried by the children to the field. There they were 
placed one in each hillock, by the men, while others 
came after to shape up the mounds carefully. 

“ You boys keep these children straight,” said 
father, and keep them straight we did, as well as 
we were able, seeing that the planters were always 
supplied and that the plants reached them in good 
condition, with roots intact and plenty of moist 
earth about them. 

What a busy time it was and what a happy one ! 
How light-heartedly they went about the work, 
with what jibes and jests and shouts of raucous 
laughter. One of them burst into a song, and in a 
moment the field was ringing with the refrain. 


I DINE IN DISTINGUISHED COMPANY 47 


Dinner was to be served to them on the spot, so 
that few of the precious moments might be lost, 
and presently two great caldrons were simmering 
over a fire and sending forth an odor that made 
even my mouth water. But we went back to the 
house for lunch, leaving affairs in the hands of 
Bush, — who, I think, was a sterner taskmaster 
than my father, — and when we reached the field 
again, their meal was over and work had been 
resumed. Nor did it slacken until every hill was 
crowned with a tip of green. 

“ A good day’s work, boys,” said the mas- 
ter, looking over the field with great satisfaction, 
when the last plant was placed. “ Now go back 
to your quarters and I ’ll see that every one of 
you has a good swig of rum to wash his supper 
down.” 

They went streaming from the field in groups, 
laughing, talking, singing ; still fresh enough, after 
the toil of the day, to spend long hours in merry- 
making before their cabins. I know that there 
are few forms of labor more wearing than that in 
the tobacco fields, yet our people were happy and 
contented and loved their masters. 

Frederic and I had held an earnest consultation 
during the afternoon, and as we turned homeward, 
I broached its subject. 

“ This is what we should like to do eveiy day, 
sir,” I began, “ Frederic and I.” 

“ What would you like to do ? ” asked father, 
somewhat sharply. 

“ To help you, sir. We both think we have had 


48 


THE HERITAGE 


enough of schooling, and we should like to work, 
sir, — to be of some account.’’ 

Father turned from one to the other of us with 
a queer light in his eyes. 

“ What has set this bee buzzing ? ” he asked at 
last. 

“ Only our desire to help you, sir,” answered 
Frederic stoutly. “ Speaking for myself, I think 
I am quite old enough to be of use to you.” 

“ And Stewart ? ” 

“ He is four years younger. He should have 
the best you can give him, sir. He is your son.” 

“ And are not you also my son ? ” demanded 
father, throwing his arm about him. “ I thank God 
I have two such sons,” and he stopped and drew 
me also within his embrace. “ Now, listen to me, 
boys,” he continued very gravely. “ I wish you to 
continue at your books and gain the learning that 
befits a gentleman. Some time, perhaps, I may 
have need of you, and when that time comes, I 
pledge you to call you to me. Until that time, you 
must make the most of Mr. Ogilvie’s teaching. 
Do you agree ? ” 

Of course we promised him, very proud of his 
confidence, and we went on together, each holding 
a hand and loving him utterly. Night had come in 
earnest, and as we neared the house, the broad rays 
of light streaming from its windows looked most 
cheerful. 

“ Margaret seems to be having some special 
illumination,” remarked father. “ Perhaps we 
have guests,” and he quickened his pace. 


I DINE IN DISTINGUISHED COMPANY 49 


“ Chris ! ” cried a voice from the door, as we set 
foot upon the lowest step, and looking up, I saw a 
tall form silhouetted against the light. 

Father gave my hand a quick, convulsive clasp, 
then dropped it and sprang up the steps. 

“ You here, sir ! ” he cried. “ You here and I 
not know it ! ” 

“We came but a moment ago, Chris, and I com- 
manded Margaret not to send for you. I know 
what planting day is, sir, and we have all the even- 
ing.” 

“ Still,” protested father, “ with you here — 
why, it shames me ! Margaret should have known.” 

“ I did know, dear,” said mother, coming for- 
ward into the light, “ and I made bold to disobey 
Colonel Stewart. I sent a boy secretly by the back 
way after you, but he must have missed you.” 

“ Hah ! ” cried the colonel. “ So this is the way 
that you obey me, madam ! We of the army are 
accustomed to punish such disobedience. I must 
punish you, madam ! ” 

“ As you please, sir,” answered mother very 
demurely. 

The other held her face up to his and kissed her. 

“ There,” he said, “ that were penalty enough 
for any insurrection. But are n’t those the boys, 
Chris?” 

“ Ay. Come hither, Stewart, and meet your 
godfather.” 

Colonel Stewart stooped and put his arm about 
me as I came up the steps, and drew me into the 
light. 


60 


THE HERITAGE 


“ So this is my godson ! ” he said. “ I have not 
seen you, sir, since the day of your christening, 
and a very red and vociferous fellow you were 
then, let me tell you. The boy favors you, Chris, 
— nose, forehead, chin, — but he has Margaret’s 
eyes and mouth, which are much prettier ones than 
yours.” 

“ There is another,” began father. 

“ Ay, I know,” interrupted Colonel Stewart 
quickly. “ I met Mr. Harrison on the road hither 
and he told me the story. It was like you, sir. 
Let me see the boy.” 

So Frederic was called up, too, and given a 
clasp of that kind hand and a greeting from that 
generous heart. 

“ Now come and meet your other guest, Chris,” 
continued Colonel Stewart. 

“ My other guest ! ” cried father, aghast at the 
thought that he had loitered at the door. 

“ Yes ; a far more distinguished guest than I. 
But he is the soul of courtesy, and I am sure will 
pardon us our lack of it.” 

As we entered the hall together, a tall figure 
rose to meet us. What a courtly one it was, and 
how winning the face that smiled down at us ! 

“ General St. Clair,” said Colonel Stewart, 
“ permit me to present to you Christopher Ran- 
dolph, my dear nephew, and his two sons, Stewart 
and Frederic.” 

He came forward to greet us, and I found my- 
self for a moment looking into the sweetest blue- 
gray eyes I have ever seen in a man’s face — the 


I DINE IN DISTINGUISHED COMPANY 51 


sincerest and most truthful. As he turned to the 
others I could look my fill at him — the chestnut 
hair, just tinged with gray and worn without 
powder, the broad brow, the winning mouth — it 
has never been my fortune to see a handsomer 
man, nor, with one exception, a more graceful or 
distinguished. 

It was he who took mother in to dinner, as he 
might have taken the greatest lady in the land ; 
who led the talk because he saw the others wished 
him to; who proved himself then as always the 
thoughtful and accomplished gentleman. 

“We have been in the south. Colonel Stewart 
and I, you know, Mrs. Randolph,” he said. “ Gen- 
eral Washington sent us there with six regiments 
to the aid of General Greene. In faith, he needed 
none,” he added. “ The British in the Carolinas 
have quite lost the wish to fight, and are thinking 
only how they can withdraw.” 

“ Yes, there will be no more battles,” said Colo- 
nel Stewart quietly. “ Even Lord North has got 
enough, I think.” 

“ Pray God it be so ! ” cried my mother ; and 
“ Amen,” said all the others with one voice. 

“ Do you know, Chris, we came very near not 
getting here at all,” said the colonel. “ Mr. Har- 
rison was almost angry with us for not stopping at 
Berkeley. But I wanted to see you all, and I felt 
sure you could find a place to put us.” 

“ A place to put you ! Don’t insult us, sir ! Gen- 
eral St. Clair,” he went on, turning to him with 
bright eyes, “ may I tell you a story about him ? ” 


52 


THjE HERITAGE 


“ Indeed you may ! ” cried that gentleman. 

“I am but a younger son, you know,” said 
father, “with the portion that usually falls to 
younger sons. But, like many another, I lost my 
heart to a girl who had the right to look a deal 
higher if she chose ” — 

“ Nonsense, sir ! ” cried mother, very red. 

“ But she did n’t choose, though her father did, 
for her. And what did this dear man do when he 
got wind of the affair — he had already been a 
second father to me, sir — but post off to Marga- 
ret’s parents. He said he knew what it was to eat 
one’s heart out, as I was eating mine.” 

“ And so I do, sir,” said the colonel. 

“ And he put the case before them so convinc- 
ingly that he quite won them over. Indeed, who 
could resist him ? God bless him ! ” cried father. 

The general looked from one to the other and 
back again, smiling. 

“ Indeed I know how irresistible he is. Major 
Eandolph,” he said. “ I know how his men loved 
him. I have seen his staff crowding about him, 
each one longing to cut his meat for him — just 
as you did to-night, my dear madam — to black 
his boots, if need be ; to kiss the ground he walked 
on. Why, he refused promotion a dozen times, 
saying that he had gone high enough — that there 
were better men ! ” i 

“ Oh, come, sir ! ” growled the colonel, very 
crimson. “ I might tell some tales of you if I 
liked. Who was it saved our army at Trenton ; 
who was it gave his fortune and every drop of his 


I DINE IN DISTINGUISHED COMPANY 53 


heart’s devotion to our cause, though he was worse 
used than Arnold, and had a dozen times his 
temptation to become a traitor ; who ” — 

Enough, enough ! ” cried the other, throwing 
up his hands. “ I beg a truce ! You overwhelm 
me ! I propose a toast, gentlemen, which I think 
should be ever first with all loyal Americans — 
General Washington. He needs no poor praise of 
mine.” 

We drank it standing — even we boys were 
given a glass for that — and as I looked up into 
the tender and reverent faces of the men I caught 
some glimpse of how our great captain’s soldiers 
worshiped him. 

“And I have a toast,” said Colonel Stewart, 
after a moment’s silence. “ I drink to the man 
who stood true to him in his hours of bitter trial ; 
who has thought ever of his country first, of his 
friends second, and of himself last of all ; a man 
whom I am honored to call my dear friend — 
Arthur St. Clair.” 

And we drank that also, 

“After two such toasts,” added the colonel, 
seeing, perhaps, the purpose in father’s face, “ I 
am sure ’t would be foUy to propose any other.” 

Forgive me if I linger on the scene, but its 
memory is very dear to me. And I am quite sure 
that I shall never sit at table in better company 
than I did that night with those three loving, 
simple, Christian gentlemen. 

The damp in the air had turned it somewhat 
chill, and we found a fire crackling on the hearth 


54 


THE HERITAGE 


when we returned to the hall. My godfather ap- 
propriated Frederic and me at once, and with an 
arm around each of us asked us many questions 
about our work and play. Then the talk turned 
to siege and battle, to war — not only to the one 
just closing, but to another that had gone before, 
when bluecoat and redcoat fought side by side 
against a common foe. For General St. Clair had 
been with Wolfe that glorious day upon the Plains 
of Abraham, where he had seized the colors of his 
regiment from the hand of a dying soldier, and 
bore them till the victory was won. And Colonel 
Stewart had been one of those who carried the 
dying Braddock from that fatal field by the Mo- 
nongahela — small need to tell it here, since he 
has told the story himself in his memoirs. How 
the evening flew — until, of a sudden, mother 
looked up at the clock, which had just started 
chiming. 

“ Midnight ! ” she cried. “ Is it possible ! Come, 
children, you must get to bed.” 

“ And we also, madam,” said Colonel Stewart. 
“We must start betimes to-morrow.” 

“ To-morrow ! ” echoed father. “ Nonsense, sir ! 
To-morrow and for the next week at least both of 
you must be my guests ! ” 

But Colonel Stewart shook his head. 

“ I am sorry, Chris, but it cannot be. I have 
been away from Riverview so long that I fear 
affairs there are in a bad way. I must make all 
haste home.” 

“ But you at least, sir, will remain,” protested 


I DINE IN DISTINGUISHED COMPANY 55 


father, turning to the other. “ I assure you we 
shall count ourselves most fortunate and honored 
to have you.” 

“Thank you, sir,” returned St. Clair, “but I 
have cause for haste even greater than my friend. 
I must first to Philadelphia to report, then out to 
my estate at Ligonier, of which I yet hope to save 
some fragments.” 

Dear gentleman ! He found himself quite 
ruined, not master of one shilling, as he himself 
wrote to his commander, and with small prospect 
of ever regaining the fortune he had given freely 
to his country. Well, there were many such, as I 
was soon to learn. 

We bade them all good-night, lighted our candle, 
and mounted to our room. But despite short 
hours of rest we were up at dawn, fearful that we 
might lose the chance of eating another meal with 
our new friends. Their horses were brought out 
ready for the journey as soon as the meal was 
ended. 

“God bless you, boys,” said Colonel Stewart, 
bending over us. “ You must come to me some 
time at Kiverview and meet my daughter. She 
must be near as tall as you are, Stewart ; though, 
bless me, I have n’t seen her these five years ! 
You must let them come, Chris, and come with 
them yourself, sir,' — you and Margaret.” 

“ And to Ligonier,” added his companion. “ I 
will show you, madam, that we of Pennsylvania 
know how to match even a Virginia welcome.” 

He bent over mother’s hand and kissed it ; but 


66 


THE HERITAGE 


Colonel Stewart took toll from her lips, with a 
whispered compliment that left her blushing like 
a rose as they cantered away down the road. They 
looked back as they came to the turn westward, 
and we waved to them and shouted a last good-by. 
They lifted their hats to us and passed from sight 
behind the trees. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE STORY OF A SCAR 

On Sundays and such holidays as Mr. Ogilvie’s 
absence about his parish duties gave us, the library 
was a favorite resort with Frederic and me. It 
was he who drew me there, at first, and not the 
books, but as time went on, I caught from him 
something of his love for them. We had not 
many volumes, — there were other things far dearer 
to the hearts of our Virginia gentry, — but still 
enough, I think, for a man to round himself upon. 
Shakespeare there was, and Don Quixote and Gil 
Bias, and Gulliver and Plutarch and the Thousand 
and One Nights ; yes, and Tom Jones and Roder- 
ick Random and Moll Flanders — a strange enough 
assortment, to be sure, and one which most parents 
would frown on nowadays. Yet let me say that 
the essential purity of the old r^ime has made me 
to distrust somewhat these new manners which 
would deny to men and women alike the right to 
the warm, red blood that God has given them. 

But let that pass. Whatever present-day teach- 
ing, certainly Frederic nor I got anything but 
good from our reading, and followed with equal 
delight the adventures of that poor, gallant gentle- 
man of La Mancha and of Squire Allworthy’s 


58 


THE HERITAGE 


scapegrace nephew. Perhaps our very youth 
helped carry us safely through, or perhaps it was 
that atmosphere of instinctive reverence for women 
in which we lived, in common with the families of 
all Virginia gentlemen. I smile to think how 
often already in this tale I have used that phrase, 
— Virginia gentleman, — but there is no other 
which quite expresses what the men of old Virginia 
were. The day was close at hand when the type 
was to grow slowly obsolete, and, I fear, with our 
changed ideals, beyond hope of resurrection. 

Of all the volumes in our little library, the one 
in which we found most delight and which we 
opened oftenest was the Thousand and One Nights. 
Its store of wonders seemed quite inexhaustible, 
and we went from the Fisherman to the Royal 
Mendicants, from Noureddin to the Barber’s Bro- 
thers, dazzled and amazed. We were seated one 
morning at the window, deep in the story of Aziz 
and Azizah, when chance willed it that I should 
see a corner of Frederic’s heart which he had never 
shown me. 

“ ‘ By Allah,’ ” he read, “ ‘ I must cause thee to 
bear a mark of my resentment. So saying, she 
inflicted upon me a cruel wound ’ ” — 

He stopped suddenly, his eyes upon his own 
right hand and the cruel wound it bore. My eyes 
were there, too, and the impulse of the moment 
forced me to a question which I had always wished 
to ask, and yet had somehow shrunk from. 

“ How came it there, Frederic ? ” I asked, and 
touched the scar gently with my finger. 


THE STORY OF A SCAR 


69 


His nostrils grew suddenly tense and quite white 
and his eyes seemed almost black as he looked at 
me. 

“ I got it at Charleston,” he said slowly, “ the 
morning my father was — murdered. His mur- 
derer gave it me.” 

He sat for a moment quite motionless, and then 
his self-control dropped from him and he flung 
himself forward sobbing on the window-seat, his 
face buried in his hands. 

“ Oh, Frederic,” I cried, aghast at the havoc I 
had wrought, “ forgive me ! I was thoughtless ! ” 

He put out a hand to me silently, and after a 
few moments the sobbing died away. At last he 
lifted his face and looked at me. 

“ Dear Stewart,” he said quite steadily, “ there 
is nothing to forgive — nothing in which you have 
offended. I have always wanted you to know, but 
was never brave enough to tell you. I am going 
to tell you now.” 

He turned half from me, as though fearing to 
let me look into his eyes, and sat gazing out along 
the road. 

From the very first,” he began, “ my father 
was a friend of the patriot cause, — God knows he 
had suffered enough from the English over-sea, — 
but Charleston was so torn with faction that he 
saw no good could come of adding his voice to the 
uproar and so stayed silent. You of Virginia can 
have little notion of how we of the Carolinas were 
divided — brother against brother, father against 


son. 


60 


THE HERITAGE 


Could we not ? — and I remembered bur cousin, 
John Randolph, king’s attorney, and his son. 

“ But when General Lincoln’s army came to 
Charleston,” Frederic said, “ he saw at last where 
he could be of service, and he did a hundred things 
to aid it. Perhaps he had been wiser to leave the 
place before the British investment was complete, 
but none of us thought General Lincoln would so 
soon surrender. Besides, had he left, there was 
one whom he must have abandoned, whom he had 
grown to love dearly, and who was very ill. So 
he remained.” 

I pressed his hand to tell him that I understood. 

“The British marched in, but we were not 
molested. One night a man came to our door and 
asked for aid. He had been set upon by thieves, 
he said, and injured. He had some cuts about his 
head and his nose was bleeding. My father took 
him in, bound up his wounds, and gave him a bed 
for the night. In the morning, he begged that he 
might stay with us. His name, he said, was Jonas 
Morgan ; he had been a sailor ; his ship was in 
the harbor when the British entered the town ; 
they had confiscated it and thrown him upon shore 
to starve ; he had no home, no friends, no money ; 
he was willing to do anything. It chanced that 
we needed a man, for our other one had run away 
at the first smell of fighting, so my father kept 
him. He worked willingly enough and seemed 
very grateful, so that at last my father came to 
trust him wholly, talked freely when he was by, 
and sent him with messages hither and thither. 


THE STORY OF A SCAR 


61 


Finally one morning he left the house and did 
not return. That day we got your father out of 
Charleston, and that night our house was broken 
into by an armed patrol, my father taken from his 
bed and haled away, without being permitted even 
to say good-by to me. For two days I tried to 
get some news of him, but could not. I learned 
at last that he had been taken to the prison-ship in 
the harbor, in company with near a hundred others. 
All his friends were in that number, and I had 
none to ask for counsel ; but I went down to the 
water every day to look out at the ship and won- 
der what he was doing. 

“ One morning, I saw a great crowd upon her 
deck. There was a roll of drums, and four dark 
figures were drawn quickly to the yard-arm. I 
watched them, not understanding in the least what 
had happened.” 

His voice had grown so hoarse and low I could 
scarce hear it. He stopped and pressed his head 
down on the sill, and I took one of his hands 
timidly in mine and held it close. 

“ So I stood looking at the ship,” he went on 
at last, “ and at the four dangling black things. 

“ ‘ Well, you ’re a dutiful son ! ’ said a voice 
behind me, and I turned quickly to find Jonas 
Morgan standing there. 

“ ‘ Oh, Jonas ! ’ I cried, and stopped, for I saw 
that he wore a British uniform and had a sword at 
his side. 

“ ‘ Well ? ’ he asked, and looked at me from 
beneath his eyelids in a way I never liked. 


62 


THE HERITAGE 


“ ‘ I did n’t know you had joined the British,’ I 
said after a moment. 

“ ‘ Did n’t you ? ’ and he still stood looking at 
me, with his eyes half shut. 

“ ‘ But, oh, Jonas,’ I cried, the thought coming 
to me quite suddenly, ‘ perhaps you can help me 
even more ! Do you know where my father is ? 
He was taken away the night after you left us, 
and they tell me he is on the ship yonder.’ 

“ He licked his lips for a moment and looked at 
me still more queerly. 

“ ‘ Yes, I know where he is,’ he said. ‘ You ’re 
right about his being on the ship. If you look 
sharp, you ’U see him.’ 

“ ‘ See him ! ’ I echoed. 

“ He nodded, and I strained my eyes out toward 
the ship. 

“ ‘ He was having a gay time out there a mo- 
ment ago — dancing,’ he said, and leered at me 
most horribly. 

“ ‘ Dancing ! ’ 

“ ‘Yes — on air! ’ 

“ Then I understood — I gazed at him — at the 
leer on his face — at the light in his eyes — and I 
understood more, perhaps, than he would have 
had me do — it was he who had betrayed my 
father, who had played the spy in our house ! 
And my father had taken him in, had treated him 
with kindness, had never thought of doubting him ! 
Oh, if I could have blasted him, could have torn 
him limb from limb, how I should have gloried in 
it ! A sort of madness seized me as I looked at 


THE STORY OF A SCAR 


him standing there, and I sprang at him like a 
wild thing and buried my teeth in his hand — 
ugh!» 

He stopped, with the taste of blood, doubtless, 
still on his lips. Then the mood passed, he sighed 
and went on more calmly. 

“ He shook me off and cut at my head with his 
sword, but I threw up my hand and caught the 
blow there — as you see. He would have killed 
me, I think, but that some one pulled him away 
from me, and they carried me off to prison. They 
decided I was too young to hang, and so sent me 
to Philadelphia with the others. That is all.” 

I had both his hands in mine now, and I stooped 
and kissed the dear one with the scar. 

“ All but one thing, Stewart,” he added ; “ there 
is one thing more. I am quite sure that one day 
fate will give that devil into my hands. His face 
is graved so deep upon my heart that I should 
know him anywhere ; besides, he will carry to his 
grave the mark I left upon him.” 

The words were spoken quietly enough, but 
there came a look in his eyes as he turned to me 
that I never forgot, and that I was destined to see 
there once again. 

“ That is with me always,” he added slowly, 
and turned back to the window, while I sat think- 
ing over the story. Suddenly a flash of light broke 
in upon me. 

“ So that is why you practice with the pistol 
every day down by the river ! ” I cried. 

He nodded. 


64 


THE HERITAGE 


“ And why you asked father to give you lessons 
in fence ! ” 

Again he nodded. 

I could find nothing more to say — I could only 
sit and look at him. Only I resolved that I, too, 
would strive to grow proficient with sword and 
pistol, that I might not fail him should he have 
need of me in that supreme moment which he 
awaited with such confidence. He spoke never 
again of the past, but I felt that there was a new 
bond between us. 

Those were happy days. I love to look back 
upon them, to recall them one by one, to picture 
to myself their scenes — our family grouped before 
the fire or on the wide veranda, the occasional trip 
to the capital, the hours of study at Berkeley, the 
round of daily duties — I have only to close my 
eyes to see these and a thousand more, and I thank 
God that at least the memory of them is left me. 


CHAPTER VIII 


ENTER SIMON P. ALLEN 

“So ends the lesson,” said Mr. Ogilvie, one 
morning, closing the book with more than usual 
emphasis. “You have come to the end of my 
teaching, boys, — I have given you all I can. And 
even were this not so, I must still say good-by, 
for I am going back to England, please God, and 
away from this distracted country.” 

Distracted he might well call it, rent as it was 
with controversy, yet we had moved on quietly 
enough, and it was only this announcement of his 
that brought chaos into our little world. 

“ I hope you will go farther with your studies,” 
he went on, “ but even if you do not, you are all 
well grounded in mathematics and the humanities. 
Now I must say good-by,” and so, with a warm 
hand-clasp, he passed out of our lives. 

Harry, we soon found, was indeed to go farther, 
and arrangements were already toward for send- 
ing him away to Hampden-Sidney college, which 
fact we duly announced to father that night. He 
doubtless saw the question in our eyes, for he sat 
silent for some moments looking at the fire, with 
no sound save the click-click of mother’s needles 
opposite to break the stillness. 


66 


THE HERITAGE 


“ I should like to send you with him, boys,” he 
said at last, “ but I fear I cannot.” 

“ Nor do we wish to go, sir,” said Frederic, 
quickly. “ I, at least, am too old for further 
schooling ; besides, there is something else I 
would much rather do.” 

“ I know — I know,” and he smiled at both our 
faces. “ Well, I fear you are going to have your 
wish. You see, I have not forgot my promise.” 

There was a tone in his voice that brought us 
both to his side. 

“ With two such sons,” he said, looking up at 
first one and then the other, “ I think we need not 
fear to meet the world, dear Margaret.” 

“ Fear, indeed ! ” cried she, and flung down her 
knitting and came to nestle to him. 

“ So I think we would best tell them all, dear,” 
he added. “ They have the right to know.” 

She nodded silently, and so he told us very 
simply, and with no complaining, of the ruin which 
overshadowed us. It was a common tale enough, 
just then, and was met in scores of other Virginia 
homes as bravely as in ours. We were free, 
indeed, but our freedom had been bought at a 
fearful price of blood and treasure. The one had 
been already paid, drop for drop ; the day of 
reckoning for the other was at hand. 

Let it be admitted, frankly, that the colony 
had been living carelessly over a volcano. I am 
sure that no Virginia gentleman had deliberately 
thought of wronging any man of his money, yet it 
had become the fashion with nearly all of them to 


ENTER SIMON P. ALLEN 


67 


live far beyond tbeir means. Under the old law 
their land was inviolate, and must go down to their 
children in any case — too frequently, a great 
burden of debt was a portion of the heritage. 
They became accustomed to a style of living 
almost princely ; lavish hospitality was a tradition 
and point of honor ; the latest decrees of fashion 
were followed as slavishly along the James as in 
Pall Mall. Whether the crop be good or bad, the 
price high or low, there were certain things to be 
got each year from London — laces, silks, brocades, 
and a thousand trinkets for my lady’s toilet ; wines 
for my lord, yes, and finery, too ; a new coach, 
perhaps, since the gilding on the old one had 
grown dingy ; any folly that for the moment 
caught the London vogue. So, in the end, a great 
debt piled up against them, which they trusted 
chance to settle. Then came the war, and all who 
had money or credit left gave freely to the public 
cause. These the Congress showed little disposi- 
tion to repay, — indeed, it had not yet the power, — 
so they were left quite bankrupt. 

Then came their death-blow — the death-blow, 
too, of the old life — for the law of entail was 
abolished. It was argued that no such law could 
exist in a republic, since it tended to foster a 
landed aristocracy and to prevent the collection of 
just debts ; yet its repeal at this moment meant 
ruin for hundreds of Virginia families, their lands 
were thrown open to the despoiler, and dark days 
were at hand. 

“ I had hoped to keep afloat by close economy,” 


68 


THE HERITAGE 


said father sadly, after he had told us all this, 
“ and in time clear off the debts ; hut I fear it 
cannot be done, even if the time were given me. 
Our markets are shut off, and the crop is not what 
it was when the land was new. I have reason to 
think our creditors mean soon to move against us ; 
so I see no way out of the coil.” 

Mother was nestling close against him, and she 
reached up and pulled his face down to hers. 

“We have still each other, dear Chris,” she 
said. “ Don’t forget that.” 

“I am not like to,” and he looked up at us 
smiling, with something of the old light in his 
face. “ What is it, boy ? ” he asked, as Frederic 
opened his lips and shut them again. 

“ Oh, if I could but make us a home in a new 
land, sir ! ” he cried, his face aglow. “ I am big 
enough and strong enough, and here have I been 
dawdling over my books. How I should love to 
do it — to hew down trees, to till the land, to 
hunt, to fish — just as was done once, sir, along 
this very river ! ” 

“ Ay — a hundred and fifty years ago,” and 
father smiled at his eagerness. “ This home- 
building is a long and dreary business, my boy — 
not half so easy as home-breaking.” 

Mother silenced him with an imperative little 
gesture. She would permit no self-accusing. 

But Frederic’s words were ringing in my ears. 
A home in a new land ! 

“ I have it ! ” I cried suddenly. 

“ Well, out with it, Stewart,” and father smiled 


ENTER SIMON P. ALLEN 


69 


again. “It seems we old heads may well take 
counsel of you young ones.” 

“ Old heads — nonsense ! ” protested mother. 
“ I am ndt ready yet to be called old, sir ! ” 

“ Nor are you,” and he drew her more closely to 
him. “ I protest you are still sweet-and-twenty, 
Margaret. But let us have Stewart’s plan.” 

“ Were you not saying the other day, sir,” I 
asked, big with the importance of my idea, “ that 
Virginia had set aside a great tract of land in the 
west for her soldiers ? ” 

“Ay,” he nodded, “ all between the Scioto and 
Miami rivers.^’ 

“ And you have a right to some of it ? ” 

“ To four thousand acres.” 

“ Well, then,” I cried, “ why may not Frederic 
and I go out to this land, claim it, and get it 
ready for you? You would go, wouldn’t you, 
Frederic ? ” 

“ I should love to,” he answered simply. 

But father shook his head. 

“ You cannot go, Stewart, because the Indians 
still occupy these lands and refuse to give them 
up. Some day, perhaps, they wiU be valuable, 
but now they are quite worthless.” 

My heart fell within me, and I turned a despair- 
ing glance upon Frederic. 

“ But a great many people have gone west to 
live, sir,” he said. 

“ Yes, to Kentucky. That seems not to be the 
home of any Indian tribe. The Indians, appar- 
ently, do not care so much for that land.” 


70 


THE HERITAGE 


“ But why ? ” I asked. 

“ Because the land north of the Ohio is better 
— more fertile, nearer the settlements, preferable 
in every way. They say the valley of the Scioto 
is the richest in the whole west.” 

“ Besides,” cried mother, “ do you think I would 
permit my boys to go out into that wilderness ? 
Even if there were no Indians, think of the sav- 
age beasts that live there — lions and tigers, for 
all I know ! ” 

“ No, my dear, no lions nor tigers,” laughed 
father, “ but dangers enough without them, and 
hardship such as we have no notion of. We will 
say no more about it, boys,” and so the subject 
was dismissed. 

But not from our brains. Frederic and I dis- 
cussed it eagerly that night. The thought of pen- 
etrating that wild and fertile valley with the soft 
Indian name quite fascinated us. What an adven- 
ture it would be to build a home in the wilderness, 
to hew out a great estate there — why might it 
not become a second Virginia ? I demanded with 
enthusiasm. 

“ I doubt if we could raise tobacco there,” said 
Frederic. “ Besides, there would be no way of 
getting it to market. No, we should have to be a 
little world to ourselves, Stewart — to provide for 
our own wants. But I am sure we could do it. 
We must do something — I, at least.” 

Neither of us quite realized how insistent the 
need was that we “do something,” but we were 
soon to know. We rode over to Berkeley two 


ENTER SIMON P. ALLEN 


71 


days later to say good-by to Harry, and very 
mournfully we watched him as he was driven away 
along the avenue. Mr. Harrison had us in, of 
course, for lunch, and soon after we started home- 
ward. 

We found a strange man sitting before the fire- 
place in the hall when we entered, with father and 
mother together opposite him. We stopped, think- 
ing him some guest. 

“ Come hither, boys,” said father. “ You also 
have a right to hear what this gentleman has to 
say — Allen, I think you said ? ” 

“ Simon P. Allen — yes, sir,” assented the other, 
hitching around in his chair. 

“ These are my sons, Frederic and Stewart,” and 
we bowed to Mr. Allen — there was something in 
father’s look that held us back from a more cor- 
dial greeting. “ Now, Mr. Allen, if you will have 
the kindness to continue.” 

“ Huh — well, really, sir, I ’d about finished all 
I had t’ say,” and he glanced from one to the 
other and hitched about again. What struck me 
most in him at that moment was the ineffectiveness 
of his appearance, he seemed so washed out, so 
colorless, so undistinguished. Clothing, hair, eyes, 
countenance — all alike were faded and dull and 
hueless. Only his voice was memorable in any 
way, and it had a burr, an edge, that was not to 
be forgotten. 

“Please begin at the beginning, then,” said 
father, a little shortly. “I wish these boys to 
understand your mission.” 


72 


THE HERITAGE 


“ Huh — well,” began the other, producing from 
his pocket an impressive document, “ I Ve got a 
warrant of attorney here t’ c’lect certain lawful 
debts, amountin’ to ” — and he looked at his paper 
to be sure of his figures — “ let me see — to three 
thousand eight hundred and fifty-two pounds, three 
shillings, fourpence, costs included.” 

I can see them yet sitting there by the fire, 
clasping each other’s hands, thinking, doubtless, 
with keen remorse, how great a portion of this 
debt had been needlessly contracted. 

“ I s’pose y’ don’t deny that y’ owe th’ money ? ” 
asked Allen. 

“ No, I don’t deny it.” 

“ So th’ question I was goin’ t’ ask when them 
two young gentlemen come in,” continued Allen, 
“ was, kin y’ pay it ? ” 

“ How soon must it be paid ? ” 

“ Huh — well,” said Allen slowly, “ it ’s been 
owin’ a long time. I guess it ’d better be paid 
right away.” 

“ You know perfectly well that is impossible,” 
said father bitterly. 

“We might borrow it, dear Chris,” said mother, 
in a whisper. “ Anything is better than to be put 
out homeless. Mr. Harrison ” — 

Allen, whose acute ears had caught the words, 
interrupted her with a laugh, that brought the 
blood to father’s face. 

“ Harrison ’s worse off ’n you are,” he said. 
“ He owes somethin’ like fifty thousand pound.” 

“We don’t care to know what he owes, sir,” 


ENTER SIMON P. ALLEN 


73 


began father angrily, but stopped when he felt the 
pressure of the dear hand upon his arm. 

Again Allen laughed. 

“ P’raps not,” he said, “ only it ’s well t’ know 
some things. All you Randolphs have been livin’ 
purty high, an’ I venture t’ say th’ Randolphs won’t 
own an acre of land in Virginia before many 
years ; ” a prediction, indeed, which came all too 
sadly true. 

“ Please keep to the business in hand, sir,” said 
father shortly. “ I repeat it : I can’t pay — not 
now. What then, sir ? ” 

“ Huh — well,” responded Allen, “ I ’ll go up t’ 
Richmond and git an execution made out. Th’ 
sheriff ’ll bring it down and sell off th’ place.” 

“ Sell it — but to whom ? ” demanded father. 
“ The place, including the negroes, is worth three 
times the debt, but who can buy, if all alike are 
bankrupt ? ” 

Allen hitched around in his chair for a moment 
without answering. 

“ Huh — well, th’ fact is,” he said at last, “ if 
they ain’t no other bidders, I ’m empowered t’ bid 
it in myself.” 

“Yourself?” 

“ Yes — for th’ creditors, of course.” 

“ And for what amount ? ” 

“ Why, fer th’ amount of th’ debt, t’ be sure.” 
His eyes were on the floor — he dared not raise 
them. 

For a moment there was silence. For the first 
time we all of us understood just what this forced 


74 


THE HERITAGE 


sale meant. There was to be no surplus. We 
were to go forth naked into the world. It was 
incongruous, I know, but at the instant dear old 
Sancho Panza flashed into my head, and I smiled 
despite myself. 

“ That will do, sir,” said father quietly at last, 
rising and opening the door. “You may go. 
Proceed with whatever measures you think best. 
Good-day.” 

And Simon P. Allen, like a bird of ill omen, 
went down the steps, mounted his horse, and clat- 
tered away toward Berkeley, on another errand 
of like nature. Its kind old master received the 
blow like a man, sorrowing only for his children’s 
sake, and faithful to the last to his great canon of 
Virginia hospitality, compelled Allen to sit down 
and dine with him ! Dear man, he did not long 
survive his misfortunes, for he was stricken with 
illness quite suddenly one evening after dinner, 
and died as he had lived, merry and undaunted, 
with a jest upon his lips. And Harry, instead of 
heir to a great estate, found himself, like many 
another gently reared, thrown for a living upon 
his own resources. 


CHAPTER IX 


WE ARE TAKEN CAPTIVE 

We had trouble enough of our own, Heaven 
knows, yet after the master of Berkeley had been 
laid to rest, mother spent a week with Mrs. Harri- 
son, until she might rally somewhat from the shock 
of her great sorrow. Harry had been called home 
by his father’s death, and flew to me so soon as he 
learned of our misfortunes, vowing that he would 
save us; but he found out soon enough that he 
himself was in dire need of help. How that know- 
ledge chafed him ! He felt his loss of fortune, just 
as his father would have done, not for the line it 
set about him personally, but because it made him 
powerless to serve his friends. He did not stay 
long at Berkeley, for he had been made ward to 
Mr. Robert Morris, and by his advice went on to 
Philadelphia to choose a profession by which he 
might earn a livelihood. 

Meanwhile, the execution against us was made 
out in due form at the Richmond court, and Sheriff 
Acton, sorry enough at the part forced upon him, 
rode down to give us notice of the sale, which was 
to take place a fortnight later. 

“ Though you know, sir,” he added to father, 
“ you can easily hold it off for a time, if you wish, 
by various processes of law.” 


76 


THE HERITAGE 


“ How long could it be held off? ” asked father. 
“ Six months readily ; perhaps a year. In that 
time things might take a turn ” — 

“ What turn could they take, sir ? ” 

Acton scratched his head ruefully. 

“ I don’t know, sir — that ’s candid. You might 
borrow the money.” 

“ How could I hope to pay it back? Even if I 
brought myself to borrow, who could lend it to 
me ? Is there any money in Virginia ? ” 

“ Mighty little, and that ’s a fact,” admitted 
Acton with a bitter laugh. “ Those London fellows 
have played their cards well. They saw a chance 
to get even, and made the most of it. They have 
got together, you know, and practically all the 
claims are being pressed at once. It ’s a sorry 
business, sir.” 

“Yes, a sorry business. We have sown and we 
must reap — ’t is one of the old laws of nature, 
Acton, which there is no escaping. I thank you 
for your suggestion, sir, but I think it best to let 
the law take its course. The sooner the sore is 
cut out, the sooner it will heal.” 

So the sheriff posted his notice and rode away. 
All up and down the country others were being 
posted, and even the greatest families were hard 
put to it to save themselves from ruin. There was 
none able to help another, and men must stand 
by impotent and see their friends made outcast. 
Yet even to the last, I think, father hoped against 
hope that some miracle might happen to save the 
estate for his children, and it was only when the 


WE ARE TAKEN CAPTIVE 


77 


sheriff began to cry the sale to the little crowd 
assembled before the house that he despaired. 
What a little crowd it was ! Not a single great 
planter in it, but Allen was there, some half dozen 
speculators from Richmond, and a group of idle 
hangers-on. 

“I have a bid on behalf of the creditors for 
three thousand eight hundred and sixty pounds,” 
said the sheriff. “ The place is worth ten thousand 
pounds, if it is worth a penny, gentlemen. It is a 
splendid investment, and the only condition to the 
purchase is that one third the money be paid down 
with a year’s mortgage for the rest. Do we hear 
another bid ? ” 

No, we did not, strain our ears as we might. 
I have not the heart to dwell on his appeals and 
supplications, — it seemed almost that we ourselves 
were begging, — and in the end the place was 
knocked down to Allen, and we found ourselves 
homeless. 

Possession need not be given for thirty days, so 
the sheriff told us, and added a hint that we might 
take a longer time if we chose. There were many 
articles of personal property the creditors could not 
touch. The law reserved us a certain number of 
the negroes ; the horses, house furniture, equipages, 
and all our personal belongings were still ours, so 
that we were not nearly so destitute as Sancho 
Panza, after all. We kept, of course, old Pomp 
and his wife and their children and grandchildren, 
and chose our other negroes so that no families 
might be separated, but despite the fact that the 


78 


THE HERITAGE 


place would probably remain intact, there was 
nightly a most doleful wailing in the negro quar- 
ters, and no doubt many of our people would have 
gone to the block in all willingness could they 
have thereby saved the fortunes of the family. 
But there is no need for me to dwell on those un- 
happy days. The most vivid memory of them with 
me now is of Frederic, brooding in dark corners, 
sitting for hours on the river bank, eating his heart 
out because he could do nothing. 

The gravest question with us all was whither we 
should go from Wyndham, and many family coun- 
cils were held concerning it. Our friends had 
not forgotten us, for lack of money could not 
dull the edge of their open-handedness. Mrs. 
Harrison had driven over a dozen times to urge 
us to come to her at Berkeley, asserting that it 
would be an act of kindness to keep her company 
in the great, lonely house. Our cousin of Turkey 
Island was no less pressing, and there were many 
others. 

“But we cannot become charges upon our 
friends,” protested father, as we stood beside his 
chair one evening. “It seems to me that three 
strong, healthy men should be able to earn a liv- 
ing without asking charity of any one.” 

He looked up at us with a smile, and I know 
that my face was beaming at being called a man. 

“ We could do so in the west, sir,” said Frederic 
quietly. “ There must be great need of men 
there.” 

“ Still on the old theme ! You know little of 


WE ARE TAKEN CAPTIVE 


79 


frontier life, boys. It is well enough for men, 
perhaps, but for women,” — and he drew his wife 
quickly to him with a gesture that needed no inter- 
preting. 

“ Oh, no — she should not go ! ” protested 
Frederic. “ But I — I can go ! I can work for 
us all — it is what I long to do. There must be a 
thousand chances for a man who would work as I 
should!” 

There were tears of tenderness in his eyes as he 
looked down at us. 

“ Dear boy,” cried mother, “ I do not fear the 
wilderness. I am quite ready to go, if that be 
best for us. Hundreds of women are going every 
year.” 

“ Yes, I know,” and father sat stroking her 
hair gently, “ but few such as you, Margaret. If 
we could leave you here until we had a home pre- 
pared, perhaps ” — 

“ But I will not be left ! That would be more 
terrible, dear Chris, than anything the wilderness 
could offer ! ” 

“ Yes,” he assented. “ Yes, I think it would, 
sweetheart. But we must soon decide. We are 
quite ready, you know, to leave Wyndham, and it 
irks me to stay here in Allen’s house.” 

The darkness had fallen as we talked, and 
Pomp came in to light the candles. Poor old 
fellow I He felt the family troubles deeply and 
his hand had grown very tremulous in the past few 
weeks. We watched him as he applied the taper 
and got the wicks to burning, I, at least, thinking 


80 


THE HERITAGE 


how few times more we should sit here seeing him 
do it. He had started to shuffle away, when we 
heard the clatter of horses’ hoofs and the roll of 
heavy wheels up the road. 

“ ’T is Mrs. Harrison,” said mother. “ I think 
we shall yet have to yield to her, Chris. Go help 
her coachman. Pomp.” 

But that quick step along the hall was not Mrs. 
Harrison’s — it was my dear godfather’s. I pro- 
test that when he entered at the door it was like 
the sun coming in. 

“ Chris ! Margaret ! ” 

What a lightening of the heart there was in his 
very hand-clasp, in the look of his eyes ! 

“ And can you start in the morning, Chris ? ” 
he demanded, the next instant. 

“ Start ? ” echoed father, in surprise. “ Start 
whither, sir ? ” 

“ Why, to Riverview, to be sure — where else, 
Chris? Dolly has your rooms ready. Ruth is 
wild to meet her cousins.” 

“ But, my dear sir,” protested father, “ surely 
we are already in your debt deep enough! We 
cannot become charges ” — 

“ Charges ! ” cried the colonel. “ Don’t insult 
me, sir! Guests you mean, dear Chris — very 
welcome and wished-for guests. Now don’t be 
unkind to me, boy ; you have been that already, 
you and Margaret.” 

“ Unkind ! ” they repeated, and looked at him 
astonished. 

“ Ay — unkind in not letting me know at once 


WE ARE TAKEN CAPTIVE 


81 


of your trouble. That was not the way to treat 
me, Chris ! ” 

“Bad news needs no courier, sir. It travels 
post, God knows ! ” 

“It did not this time, sir! Had I known in 
time, I might have been of service ; now, I fear, 
it is too late. So your home is on the Potomac, 
Pomp,” he demanded, “ are the boxes 

packed ? ” 

“ Yes, suh I ” responded that worthy, his face 
shining like the full moon. “ Been packed dese 
two days, suh.” 

“And the house stuff?” 

“ ’Most all boxed up, suh. We kin finish in d’ 
mornin’.” 

“ That ’s good ! Now, Pomp, I ’m going to rely 
on you to help me.” 

“Yes, suh.” 

“ I want you to have the coach, wagons, every- 
thing, hitched up at daybreak. You will load 
everything on them — and see that nothing ’s over- 
looked, you rascal.” 

“ Yes, suh.” 

“ The boxes will be loaded on the light cart, 
so that they can go right along with the coach. 
Your wife and all the other women will ride with 
them in the light wagon.” 

“Yes, suh.” 

“ You yourself will take charge of the men — 
the children will go with the women, of course — 
and will bring them to Riverview as quickly as 
you can, with the carts and furniture. You know 
the road ? ” 


82 


THE HERITAGE 


“ I ’s been oveb it a hundred times, sub.” 

“Well, you’ll take food enough along to last 
you. We ’re having good weather now, and you 
ought to make the trip easily in ten days — say a 
fortnight at the outside.” 

“We ’ll do it, suh.” 

“ And understand — I ’ll hold you responsible.” 

“ I und’stan’, suh,” said old Pomp proudly, and 
shuffled away to set his preparations instantly astir. 

We had sat, spell-bound, listening to these 
orders, delivered with a military decision and 
rapidity, but as Colonel Stewart turned back to 
us, smiling with satisfaction, father found his 
tongue. 

“ My dear sir,” he began. 

“ Not a word ! ” cried the colonel. “ Not one 
single word ! I ’ve brought my coach, which will 
hold us all, and we start at sun-up. Now I think 
it ’s time for dinner.” 

There was no resisting him, he was so utterly 
master of the situation. He had taken our bur- 
dens in his hands completely, and for the first 
time in many days we sat about the table in some- 
thing like our old spirits. It did me good to see 
the color again in mother’s face and the light in 
father’s eyes. 

Sure enough, at sunrise we were bundled into 
the coach, without time for reflection or looking 
back, — which was doubtless just what he desired, 
— and were driven away through an avenue of 
weeping negroes. We met Mrs. Harrison pre- 
sently upon the road, — she was coming to renew 


WE ARE TAKEN CAPTIVE 


83 


her invitation, — and said good-by to her. It was 
a last good-by, fate wiUed, for she followed her 
husband within the year ; and there are few 
sweeter memories in my life than that of their 
kindly faces, their charming ways, their sweet and 
winning personalities. 

W e turned westward up the peninsula, and long 
ere noon reached Richmond, where we stopped 
that father might have a last word with Allen. 
Then the coach turned toward the Potomac, the 
carts heaped high with boxes and surmounted by 
the women, rumbling along behind. It was a 
parting from the old familiar country which 
touched us all, and even Colonel Stewart could 
not render the atmosphere within the coach a 
cheerful one. 

“ Any plans for the future, Chris ? ” he asked 
at last. 

Father shook his head. 

“I fear not, sir. It has been so sudden — 
there has been no time for planning.” 

“ Of course not,” said the colonel instantly. 
“How foolish of me to ask. Well, you will have 
plenty of time for planning now, for you will not 
leave Riverview soon, I promise you.” 

“I have a plan, sir,” spoke up Frederic, and 
the others laughed as they looked at his bright 
eyes. None of us realized, I think, how far ad- 
vanced to manhood Frederic really was. 

“ And what is it, sir? ” asked the colonel. 

Whereupon Frederic, halting somewhat at first, 
detailed the enterprise of which we already know. 


84 


THE HERITAGE 


Colonel Stewart nodded thoughtfully when he had 
ended. 

“You might do worse, Chris,” said he, “than 
to let the boy go out and locate your land.” 

“ But I am going too, sir ! ” I cried, crimson 
with anger at the thought that I might be over- 
looked. “ I am quite old enough, and stronger 
even than Frederic.” 

“ And you know I cannot let the boys go alone, 
sir,” added father quietly. 

“ Well, Margaret, at least, can stay with us at 
Riverview,” said the colonel. 

“ Indeed, not ! ” she cried. “ That has all been 
settled. Colonel Stewart.” 

He laughed as he looked at her. 

“You don’t know what you are saying, my 
dear,” he protested. “ Think of the Indians.” 

“ I have.” 

“ And of the trip over the mountains.” 

“ I have.” 

“ And of life in a rude cabin in the wilderness.” 

“ I have.” 

“With perhaps no neighbor within a day’s 
journey ; no visitors ; no boat from London ; no 
news of the outside world for weeks and weeks.” 

“ I have — I have thought of it all, dear sir.” 

“ And you have concluded ” — 

“ That since we go through this world only once, 
I ’ll go through it with my husband.” 

Colonel Stewart threw up his hands with a 
comical look of despair. 

“No use, Chris,” he said. “We are slaves to 


WE ARE TAKEN CAPTIVE 


85 


our wives. We ’ll have to find another way. 
Well, we shall find it,” and with that the talk 
turned to other things. 

Good weather had made good roads, so that we 
pushed forward at a lively pace until an hour after 
dark, when the lights of Hanover court-house 
gleamed ahead, and we finally drew up before an 
inn, which we found a very good one. We had 
dinner and were soon abed, for there was to be 
an early start next day, in order that we might 
sleep at Fredericksburg. Sleep there we did, 
after a long and wearying day’s journey, with no 
incident to mark it. 

“ One day more,” said Colonel Stewart that 
night, “ and we shall be home. But we ’ll start 
at dawn again, remember.” 

So in the gray light of the morning we were off 
again, and very weary of it Frederic and I were 
by the time that evening fell. 

“ But this is nothing,” protested the colonel, 
laughing at our tired faces, “ to what the trip over 
the mountains would be, boys. Why, this has 
lasted only three days, while that lasts as many 
weeks.” 

“ At least it will not be made in a coach, sir,” 
said Frederic. 

“ No — no such easy way.” 

“ Easy, sir ! ” 

“ Yes, easy. You will think so after you have 
tramped all day, lending a shoulder to the wagons 
every minute. The trip over the mountains must 
be made on foot — by men, at least. I have made 


86 


THE HERITAGE 


it — yes, by the same road that is still used. We 
hewed out that road, my boy — we of Braddock’s 
army.” 

“Won’t you tell us about it, sir?” asked 
Frederic, with bright eyes. “ It must have been 
glorious.” 

“There was little glory got out of that cam- 
paign,” observed the colonel grimly, and he told 
us the dismal tale of error and defeat, while we 
sat spell-bound. 

“ But they have paid for it — the savages ! ” I 
cried, as he ended. 

“ Paid for what, my boy ? ” 

“ For their cruelty — for the torture of those 
captured soldiers ! ” 

“ No, they have never paid for it. Yet I think 
the French were more to blame than they, for that 
is savage warfare, and the French looked on with- 
out a protest, and, certainly, the French have 
paid for it. But the Indians have never suffered 
a great defeat ; besides, we cannot kill their wo- 
men and children. We cannot torture them. 
Even if we could, they count it a glory to stand 
smiling at the stake with the fire about them. 
They are brave men — brave and cruel — and 
have met with much injustice. There is the Poto- 
mac,” he added suddenly. 

We peered out through the gathering darkness 
and away to the right caught the gleam of water. 

“We shall soon be home,” he said, with a sigh 
of satisfaction. “ I ’ll wager they are expecting 


WE ARE TAKEN CAPTIVE 


87 


So they were, for as we rolled up the broad drive 
to the house, we could see the windows alight in 
welcome. We drew up with a flourish before the 
steps, and as I scrambled out of the coach, I 
caught a glimpse of two figures running down 
them. 

“ Did you bring them, Tom ? ” cried a clear 
voice. 

“ Indeed I did, Dolly,” answered the colonel — 
it gave me quite a turn that any one should dare to 
call him Tom. “ Indeed I did ! ” 

It was mother who flew first to her arms and 
found comfort in the very touch of them about 
her. Then it was father’s turn, and then mine. 

“ So this is Stewart ! ” she was saying. “ To 
think I should never have seen you, and here you 
are almost as tall as I am, sir ! Kuth, come here 
and kiss your cousins.” 

Ruth, who had been hugging her father, came 
forward at the call, and then stopped short as she 
saw us standing there. 

“ Why — why,” she stammered, “ I thought 
they were quite small ! ” 

“ And here they are two genuine young 
giants ! ” laughed her father. “ Well, I dare say, 
they will relish a kiss none the less ! ” 

Relish it ! I felt my face turn crimson in sym- 
pathy with hers, and for the first and last time in 
my life I suspected her father of a want of tact. 
But her wits were readier than mine. 

“ How do you do, cousin ? ” she said, coming 
forward very sedately, and giving me her hand. 
“ You are most welcome to Riverview.” 


88 


THE HERITAGE 


I could not find my tongue, and smiling at me 
with just a touch of malice at my confusion, she 
turned to Frederic. 

“ Now come in with us,” said Mrs. Stewart. 
“ You must be very weary,” and she led the way 
up the steps, while her husband remained behind 
to give some orders to the servants. 


CHAPTER X 


MISTRESS RUTH SINGS US A SONG 

Dinner was awaiting us, and our host insisted 
that we sit down to it at once, after the hastiest 
toilet. 

“ Your boxes are not unpacked,” he said, “ and 
cannot be for some time. So let us waive all cere- 
mony and dine as we came from the road.” And 
as we were in his hands entirely, we obeyed like so 
many children. 

So there, for the first time, I sat down with 
Mistress Ruth, though not so near her as I could 
have wished to be. She had her father’s dark 
eyes, and when they turned in my direction, as 
they did once or twice, I found them most disquiet- 
ing. They seemed to have the power to look one 
through and through, and their mistress was plainly 
diverted vastly by what they revealed to her when 
they chanced to rest on me. But she gave me 
scant attention. She had been seated next to 
Frederic, — an arrangement for which I suspect 
she was responsible, — and the two were soon 
plunged into low-toned talk. But I could look at 
them ; I could see how his fair comeliness matched 
her dark beauty ; I could note how his eyes soft- 
ened and kindled as they dwelt upon her ; and I 


90 


THE HERITAGE 


fancied I could guess what was passing in both 
their hearts, even in those first moments, with 
the prescience of those whom fate has set apart. 
Well, Frederic was worthy any woman, and as I 
sat looking at him, proud of his beauty, I wondered 
that all women did not lay their hearts before him 
openly. I am sure that I should have done so, 
had fate made me a woman, certain of finding his 
tender and sweet and true. I never read the first 
series of the Sonnets without thinking how aptly 
they describe him. 

We soon found that we had come to a home, 
indeed. Our rooms were ready for us, and when 
we mounted to them after dinner, we found the 
boxes opened and our women waiting. 

“ What do you think of her, Frederic ? I que- 
ried, when we were alone together. 

“ Think of whom ? ” he asked. 

“ There is but one ‘ whom,’ ” I laughed. “ Mis- 
tress Ruth, to be sure.” 

“ I think her a very charming girl,” he said 
quietly, and met my look smilingly, though with a 
somewhat heightened color. 

“ ‘ Is it for fear to wet a widow’s eye ? ’ ” I be- 
gan jestingly, but he stopped me with a look. 

“ It is that I have work to do, Stewart,” he 
said, in a voice that told how much he was in ear- 
nest. “ And I am more and more convinced that 
my work lies westward beyond the mountains.” 

“ But they will not let you go,” I protested. 

“ I must go ! I could not be so selfish as to stay 
here idle. I am no child to be coddled and kept 


MISTRESS RUTH SINGS US A SONG 91 


from harm. I am sure Colonel Stewart will ap- 
prove. Do you remember how he spoke when I 
told him my plan ? ” 

“ Then I will go with you, Frederic ! ” I cried. 
“ I am no child, neither ! I will not be left be- 
hind ! I will go alone if you leave me ! ” 

He threw his arm about my shoulders with a 
quick, affectionate gesture. 

“ You shall go, Stewart,” he said. “ Something 
tells me that you shall go. I am sure there need 
be no fear with me to protect you.” 

“ To protect me ! ” I cried indignantly. “ Look 
at me, Frederic, and tell me I need protection ! ” 

He did not answer, but turned away, humming 
softly to himself. 

“We must go down,” he said at last. “We 
have loitered here too long already.” 

So down we went, and found the others already 
gathered on the veranda. 

“ Sit down here, boys, and renew your youth,” 
commanded Colonel Stewart. “ ’T is a night in a 
thousand.” 

The yellow moon hung low in the sky, throwing 
broad streamers of light across the river, which 
glided past noiselessly as a phantom stream. The 
fringe of trees along its bank stood out in bold 
relief, and a hundred yards to the north a dark 
tangle of shrubbery marked the course of some 
tributary. The air was sweet with a hundred per- 
fumes, soft as a baby’s breath, resonant with the 
innumerable noises of the darkness, the faint, deep- 
sounding chorus of frog and owl and insect. We 


92 


THE HERITAGE 


sat silent, drinking in this beauty, until the moon 
had sunk behind the trees. 

“ Come,’’ said our host, rising with a little sigh, 
“ the enchantment ’s done, the spell is broke, and 
we were best indoors, for the air is growing chiU.” 

I stood where I was, the better to see Ruth 
enter the stream of light at the door, and glancing 
at Frederic, I found him intent on the same spec- 
tacle. I could have sworn that she smiled over 
her shoulder at him, but when we got indoors, we 
found her bending demurely over her tambour, in- 
tent upon her needlework. 

“ The evening wants but one thing to make it 
perfect,” observed the colonel, as he sank into his 
chair. “ Ruth, will you not sing for us ? ” 

“ Of course, dear father,” answered that young 
lady, laying down her frame at once. “But I 
must have some one to light me.” 

I would have sprung forward but that her eyes 
were on {Frederic. Plainly I was not in favor, 
which was no wonder when he was by, so I sat 
down again where I might watch them. She led 
the way to the spinet in the corner, he following 
with lighted candle. 

“ It was her mother’s before her,” remarked the 
colonel, watching her fondly as she took her seat. 
“ But she will never learn to play it as her mother 
did,” he added. 

“ Nonsense, sir ! ” cried the mother in question. 
“ She has already far more skill than I.” 

“ Why,” he continued, not heeding her, and 
leaning his head against the chair-back, “ I re- 


MISTRESS RUTH SINGS US A SONG 93 


member it used to seem to me it was my very 
heartstrings she was plucking at.” 

“ And now you are old, sir, ’t is only the wire 
ones yonder that tremble,” she retorted. “ The 
fault is not in the instrument nor in the player.” 

“ Perhaps not,” said the colonel. “ ’T is a sad 
thing to grow old, boys ; never do it.” 

But Mistress Ruth was waiting our pleasure. 

“ What shall it be, sir ? ” she asked, looking at 
him over her shoulder. 

“ Why, you know my favorite, Ruth. I can’t 
hear it too often, my dear.” 

She set the sheet on the shelf before her, and 
directed Frederic how to hold the candle, though 
she doubtless had no need whatever of it, and 
touched the chords. Do you know the song? 
’T was sung for a sixpence to Olivia’s scapegrace 
uncle, but I hope Olivia herself was listening at 
the stair-head. 

“ O, mistress mine, where are you roaming ? 

O, stay and hear ; your true love ’s coming, 

That can sing both high and low ; 

Trip no further, pretty sweeting ; 

Journeys end in lovers meeting, 

Every wise man’s son doth know. 

“ What is love ? ’t is not hereafter ; 

Present mirth hath present laughter ; 

What ’s to come is still unsure : 

In delay there lies no plenty ; 

Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty ; 

Youth ’s a stuff will not endure.” 

“ Doth it make your heart beat, Stewart ? ” 
asked the colonel. 


94 


THE HERITAGE 


There was such a weight upon my tongue I 
could not answer, and such a mist before my eyes 
I could scarce see the shaking candle in Frederic’s 
fingers. “ You are right, my love,” said he after a 
moment, turning back to his wife. “ The fault is 
not in instrument nor player. ‘ Youth ’s a stuff 
will not endure.’ ” 

“ But love does,” said his wife simply. 

“ Ay — love does,” and he looked gently across 
at her. “ ’T is a wonderful thing. Come here and 
kiss me, sweetheart.” 

She came at once, quite unashamed, and he put 
his arm about her and held her so a moment. But 
Mistress Ruth, alarmed perhaps at the effect of 
her song upon Frederic, dashed away into the 
ballad of Sir Dilberry Diddle, and the spell was 
broken, for one could not choose but laugh at the 
tale of that gallant captain of militia, who, when 
“the battle was over without any blows,” steps 
into the coach with his lady. 

“John’s orders were special to drive very slow, 

For fevers oft follow fatigues, we all know, 

And, prudently cautious, in Venus’s lap. 

Beneath her short apron. Mars takes a long nap. 

“ He dreamt. Fame reports, that he cut all the throats 
Of the French as they landed in flat-bottomed boats ; 

In his sleep if such dreadful destruction he makes, 

What havock, ye gods ! we shall have when he wakes ! ” 

“ Bravo ! ” cries the colonel. “ Come hither and 
get a kiss, Ruthie. Age hath its privileges, you 
see,” he added, “ and another is to go early to bed. 
I am sure we are all in need of rest. So say good- 
night, my dears.” 


MISTRESS RUTH SINGS US A SONG 95 


Our candles were on the table at the stair-foot, 
and it was Frederic who lighted Kuth’s for her and 
who bade her good-night last of all. I had never 
thought to see him such a squire of dames, yet 
I must confess he carried it off gallantly as any 
seasoned courtier. We stood looking after her as 
she went up the stair. 

“Just as I looked after you a hundred times, 
sweetheart,’^ observed the colonel, whose soft heart 
was ever alert for passages at love. And we, in 
some confusion, woke from our dreams and sought 
our room. 

Somehow I could not jest with Frederic now. 
I feared that I might touch too closely, and so we 
went to bed in silence. It was only after the light 
was out that he spoke. 

“ And you still wish to go west with me, Stew- 
art ? ” he asked. 

“ With all my heart. And you ? ” 

“I more than ever. I will speak to Colonel 
Stewart in the morning,” he added quietly. 
“ Good-night.” 


CHAPTER XI 


WE FIND AN ALLY 

Fredekic was ever for doing a thing hot on the 
moment of inception, and so next morning, sure 
enough, we knocked at the door of Colonel Stew- 
art’s office. His voice bade us enter, and we found 
him seated before a wide table, engaged with a 
great mass of papers. 

“ If you are busy, sir, we will not intrude,” be- 
gan Frederic, hesitating on the threshold. 

“ I am not busy — not especially so,” said the 
colonel. “ Come in, both of you.” 

“We wished to talk with you, sir, about our 
journey westward,” continued Frederic. 

“ So you have determined to make it ? ” asked 
the colonel quietly. 

“ You know, sir, I am a boy no longer,” said 
Frederic. 

“ Nor am I,” I interjected. 

“ And it is time I was doing something. Why, 
at my age, Colonel Stewart, you had taken part in 
two campaigns ! ” 

“ Ay ; but we began young fifty years ago.” 

“ While I have done nothing save idle over my 
books at home.” 

“ Nor have I,” I said. 


WE FIND AN ALLY 


S7 


“ You might both have done much worse,” ob- 
served the colonel. 

“ Now this thing lies plain before me,” added 
Frederic. “ Do you not think it best that I should 
go, sir ? ” 

“ That we both should go ? ” I corrected. 

Colonel Stewart sat looking at us a moment 
without answering. 

“ It is not to be denied,” he said at last, “ that 
the great future of the country lies in the west, and 
that those who are first on the ground will, in 
the end, reap the richest harvest. As for the dan- 
ger”— 

“ As for the danger, sir,” interrupted Frederic 
impetuously, “ shall we admit that we are more 
cowardly than the thousands who have gone be- 
fore?” 

“ No,” said Colonel Stewart, smiling, “ we will 
admit nothing of the sort. Besides, there is rumor 
of a new treaty with the Indians which will open 
more of their lands to us, and do away with any 
possibility of war. There are many good men 
already in the northwest. General St. Clair is 
governor of the territory, as you know, and a 
letter from me to him may be of service to you. 
General Putnam is there, and Winthrop Sargent 
and Colonel Crary and Colonel Stacey and Colonel 
May and many others, — most of them veterans 
of the revolution, and ruined by it, so that in their 
age they are compelled to seek new fortunes, — so 
I see no reason to fear an Indian rising, even 
should one occur. I have two land warrants in 


98 


THE HERITAGE 


my own right, one of eight hundred acres in Din- 
widdie’s grant to the Virginia soldiers who served 
with Braddock, and another of five thousand in 
the reserve for the Continental Line. Both of 
these you could take with you, so you see that I, 
too, have some interest in your going.” 

Frederic’s face had grown brighter and brighter 
as this discourse proceeded. As for me, my heart 
was singing. 

“ So you approve, sir? ” he demanded eagerly. 

“ Yes, I approve,” answered the colonel slowly, 
“ under certain conditions that I will think upon. 
I believe I can win the consent of your parents, 
but you must be patient. You can promise me 
that, I think ? ” 

“ Promise you ! ” cried Frederic, seizing his hand. 
“We will promise you anything, dear sir!” and 
we left the room, walking on air. 

“ Let us go somewhere and talk it over,” I sug- 
gested, and with common consent we turned to- 
ward the river. 

Just at the point where the bank sloped on one 
side to the river and on the other to the quiet waters 
of an inlet, two lofty oaks sprang upward, side by 
side, their branches interlacing in affectionate em- 
brace. We walked slowly toward them, deep in 
our plans, and it was not until we got quite near 
that we perceived a seat had been built between 
them, and that it was at this moment occupied. 

“ Good-morning, sirs I ” cried Mistress Ruth, 
for she it was. “ I trust you slept well your first 
night at Riverview ? ” 


WE FIND AN ALLY 


99 


“ Too well, I fear,” laughed Frederic, “ since we 
were too late for morning prayers, or to have the 
pleasure of your company at breakfast.” 

“ I have so many duties,” she said sedately, 
‘‘ that I must be early astir. But will you not sit 
down, sirs ? ” 

Now the seat, though comfortable enough for 
two, was, I thought, scarce long enough for three, 
so I sat me down upon the ground while Frederic 
took the place beside her. After all, I told my- 
seK, since it was this role of looker-on, of foil for 
the principals, I was to play through all the acts 
of the comedy, it was as well that chance com- 
pelled me to assume it without delay, that I might 
grow quite perfect in the part. 

“ And what are these duties that compel such 
early rising? ” queried Frederic. “Is it the tam- 
bour, or the spinet ? ” 

“ ’T is neither, sir ! ” she cried indignantly. 
“ These two years past have I been given the 
care of the linen and of the house. Dear mother 
has the storeroom and kitchen, which are quite 
enough. Father wished her relieved of a part of 
her burden ; besides, he said, the experience would 
stand me in good stead when — when ” — 

“ When you come to have a house of your own,” 
prompted Frederic, as she stammered and grew 
red. “ And when may that be, cousin ? ” 

“ You grow impertinent, sir ! ” 

“Will it be on the James or the Potomac — 
perhaps on the York — perhaps even on the Rap- 
pahannock ? ” he persisted. 


LofC. 


100 


THE HERITAGE 


She shut her lips together very tightly, and rose 
without answering. But Frederic had her by the 
hand before she had taken a second step. 

“Pardon, dear cousin,” he pleaded. “My 
tongue ran away with my wits, as it hath a way of 
doing sometimes. Say that you pardon me ! ” 

And tender-hearted Kuth forgave him directly, 
and sat down again beside him. 

“ There, I have forgot my kerchief ! ” she cried. 
“ I must get it ! ” 

“ Can I not get it ? ” asked Frederic. “ Do you 
remember where you left it ? ” 

“Let me see,” and she looked out over the 
water, her eyes bright with mischief. “I think 
you will find it, sir, on the window-seat in the hall ; 
if not there, on the spinet. If it is n’t there, one 
of the house-girls will give you another, which 
you may bring to me.” 

Frederic was off in a moment, and it was not 
till then that it occurred to me that I should have 
offered to go — that perhaps it was a ruse to get 
me out of the way, and had failed through my 
obtuseness. 

“ The ground is very hard, is it not, cousin ? ” 
asked a voice. 

“ No harder than the seat,” I answered shortly, 
impatient with myself for being so stupid. 

“ But the attitude cannot be comfortable.” 

“ No,” I began, when something in her voice 
made me look up at her. 

She was laughing down at me, while with her 
kerchief she flicked a speck of dust from her 
sleeve. 


WE FIND AN ALLY 


101 


I groaned in spirit. 

“ So it was a ruse ! I thought so. You must 
deem me very stupid, cousin Ruth ! ” 

“ Stupid?’’ she echoed, affecting to look aston- 
ished. “ Pray, why ? ” 

“ Why ? Oh, you need to ask ! But I had n’t 
the sense to see it was I whom you wished to get 
rid of, and so sat still while Frederic went on that 
fool’s errand ! ” 

For an instant longer she stared down at me, 
then burst into such a peal of laughter that I 
could not choose but join her — though very rueful 
mirth it was on my part. Few men can laugh 
gracefully at their own expense. 

“ Come, sit here, sir,” she commanded, when 
she regained breath to speak. “ Since my ruse, as 
you call it, miscarried, at least you can talk to me 
about your brother until he returns, that the time 
may pass as pleasantly as possible.” 

“ Gladly,” I assented, and took the place beside 
her, my heart full of him. “ You remember in 
the Thousand and One Nights the heroes and 
heroines are compared always to the moon — the 
‘ shining full moon,’ or ‘ the splendid full moon,’ 
or ‘ like the moon when it appeareth in its four- 
teenth night’? Well, I always think of Frederic 
as like that.” 

“ Like the moon ! ” she laughed lightly. “ But 
Frederic is tall and slender — while the moon 
— the full moon — why, you are more like that, 
cousin ! ” 

“ Like the moon in beauty and brightness,” I 


102 


THE HERITAGE 


said, nettled somewhat at her mirth. “ Surely, you 
can see that.” 

“ But the moon is so cold,” she protested. “ And 
so inconstant, Juliet calls it. I should not wish to 
be likened to the moon, sir, — more especially not 
to the full moon. Such a shape ! ” 

I could never bear being laughed at, and I knew 
she was laughing at me now, — besides, no one 
likes to have his gods derided, — so I sat silent, 
looking out over the river and wishing heartily 
that Frederic had not left us. 

“ And then she is called so many other dismal 
names,” continued my tormentor. “ The lonely 
moon, the pale-faced moon, the envious moon, the 
ghostly moon — I am sure I would not wish to be 
lonely, or pale-faced, or envious ! ” 

Here was she making a jest of me, and I could 
think of no retort that was not discourteous, or 
worse I So I kept my face obstinately toward the 
river, and there was a little silence. But how well 
she knew her poet ! 

“ Here comes your brother,” she said suddenly, 
and whisked her kerchief out of sight. “ Mind, 
sir, there is to be no word about that unfortu- 
nate ruse of mine. And I am sorry I teased you, 
cousin ; only,” she added, “ a fair mark is such a 
great temptation ! ” 

He had brought her another dainty square of 
linen, and she took it from him with such pretty 
thanks that had I not known better, I would have 
sworn her heart was in them. I was determined 


WE FIND AN ALLY 


103 


to be a spoil-sport no longer, and so took myself 
off with some excuse, and walked slowly back to 
the house, pondering on the perverseness of women 
and on my own hard f^te. Virtutc sua — but 
what sorry comfort that sometimes is ! 


CHAPTER XII 


OUR ALLY WINS OUR BATTLE 

Colonel Stewart was of the old regime, and 
despite the church’s disestablishment and decay, 
held rigidly to her offices, reading the lessons from 
an old and much-thumbed Bible which had been 
given him by the pastor of his boyhood. I know 
it has been the fashion to hold up our old society 
to scorn and execration, as one of horse-racing, 
cock-fighting, gambling and wine-bibbing, a single 
Squire Western serving to set the reputation of a 
whole county. Yet in many households the stand- 
ard of living would have done no dishonor to Pu- 
ritan New England ; that they had grown some- 
what rare of recent years was due more to the 
actions of the clergy than to any other cause ; yet 
even their license and ribaldry and drunkenness 
could not shake the elders, who had been reared 
under godlier instruction. 

Another thing in which our household stood 
somewhat unique was its library of near five hun- 
dred volumes, one of the largest on the Northern 
Neck, brought from England in Colonel Stewart’s 
boyhood. It was there I spent a great part of my 
time, in the succeeding days, and Frederic often 
joined me, somewhat to my surprise. At last I 


OUR ALLY WINS OUR BATTLE 


105 


dared to hint that to my mind he might be much 
more pleasurably employed in amusing Mistress 
Ruth. 

“ Why,” he grumbled, “ she sent me about my 
business half an hour since, Stewart. She has so 
many duties to occupy her that there is little 
enough time left for idling — which cannot be said 
of us,” he added, in another tone. “ Then she 
varies so, I scarce know how to take her — only 
this I know, that her wit is infinitely quicker than 
my own — I have proved that ruefully a score of 
times.” 

“ Plague on her ! She has baited me, too. I 
fear she is spiteful, Frederic.” 

“No, not that — nothing mean nor selfish. 
Only, I think, she finds the company of two slow, 
stupid fellows like ourselves a little wearing.” 

I gazed at him in astonishment over my book, 
and saw he was in earnest. 

“Ay, it is true, Stewart,” he said, smiling at 
my look. “We have seen very little of the world, 
you know, and have met few people in it. Wits 
need rubbing to be brightened.” 

“Well, we shall soon see more of it, I trust; 
and then, perhaps, we may hope to measure our- 
selves with these chits of sixteen. Has she seen 
the world ? ” 

“No; women seem not to have the need that 
men have. They get it, somehow, out of their 
inward selves.” 

“ And then they have this great advantage,” I 
added, “ that we may not retort for fear of wound- 


106 


THE HERITAGE 


ing them, while they thrust the knife into us as 
viciously as they can.” 

“ Poor boy ! And did she use you so cruelly ? ” 
he asked. 

“ ’T is not for myself I am complaining — only 
you must confess it true — they continually cry 
for quarter, yet give none.” 

He looked at me curiously for a moment with- 
out answering, and then turned away to the win- 
dow, where he stood tapping on the pane and 
gazing out across the fields. I went back to the 
book, but found the letters dancing before my 
eyes, and after a vain attempt to go on with my 
reading, I laid it down and left the room, an- 
gry with myself, but more angry with the jade 
who seemed to be coming between us. I started 
through the hall to get my hat, and came upon 
Mistress Ruth herself in the window-seat, bending 
over some bit of finery. She nodded coolly as I 
passed, and turned back to her work, but some imp 
of perverseness prompted me to stop before her. 

“ So,” I said, “ this was the important duty that 
would not brook disturbance ! ” 

She looked up at me with eyes wide open. 

“ I do not understand you, sir,” she said. 

“ Nor I you,” I retorted impatiently. “ Why 
do you object to Frederic ? ” 

“ So he has been complaining ! ” she said, with 
a little sneer. 

I saw my error then, too late. 

“ No, he has not been complaining ; that is not 
his way. If you only knew him ” — 


OUR ALLY WINS OUR BATTLE 


107 


“ I do know him ! ” she cried, “ and I assure 
you that I am far from thinking him a god out of 
Olympus I ” 

There was a fire in her eyes as she looked up at 
me that I found myself dwelling on with delight. 
But she dropped them again in an instant, and I 
shook myself together. 

“ I was going for a walk,” I said inanely, striv- 
ing to conquer temptation and muster courage to 
tear myself away. 

“ Very well,” and she went steadily on with her 
stitching. 

“ I should think such delicate needlework must 
be very bad for the eyes,” I continued, surren- 
dering completely to the devil and hating myself 
for it. 

“ I have heard so,” she answered curtly. 

“Perhaps a walk in the open air would be 
of benefit,” I suggested, throwing discretion quite 
overboard. 

She looked up at me again and this time her 
eyes were beaming. 

“ If I consent to go, will you promise to say not 
a word about your great god’s virtues ? ” she 
asked. 

“ I promise,” I said, sending honor after discre- 
tion, and thinking perjury, for the moment, a 
small offense. 

“ Then wait a moment, sir,” and she ran to get 
her bonnet. 

The air was soft and warm, with the magic of 
the spring in it, and it seemed that one might 


108 


THE HERITAGE 


almost hear in the wood the rising of the sap, the 
bursting of the buds. We walked a little way 
along the river, she telling me something of her 
home-life and of the neighbors; especially of a 
certain very famous one, with whom her father 
had been for years on terms of closest friendship. 
General Washington, it seemed, lived only a few 
miles up the river at his estate. Mount Vernon. 

“ But you will not have the privilege of seeing 
him,” she added, “ for he is at New York.” 

“ But I have already seen him,” and I told her 
of that day at Yorktown. 

“ I love to talk of him,” she said, when I had 
finished. “ He is so head and shoulders above all 
other men.” 

“ So there is one man, at least, worth talking 
of,” I said, thinking that perhaps, to stay some 
stings of conscience, I might yet bring the talk 
around to Frederic. 

“ Yes, one,” she retorted, darting a glance at 
me, “ but I know no boy worthy of two words.” 

We had reached the seat at the river bank, 
which seemed the natural Mecca of all such pil- 
grimages, and she sat down, motioning me to the 
place beside her. As I laid my hand upon the 
arm, my fingers felt a little roughness there, and 
after idling over it a moment, I looked to see what 
it might be. It seemed to be a monogram, but so 
worn I could not decipher it. I looked up to see 
Kuth watching me with a little smile. 

“ What is it ? ” I asked. 

“ ’T is my mother’s love-token to my father. A 


OUR ALLY WINS OUR BATTLE 


109 


heart, encircling a T and a D, the initials of their 
names. She cut it there while he was away at the 
wars, and he found it when he came home and 
thought her taken from him.” 

I looked again at the carving and then out 
across the water, not daring to speak the words 
that trembled on my lips. Even as I gazed, a 
great ship sailed slowly into sight around a point 
far down the stream, and held straight for us be- 
fore the wind. 

“ Look ! ” I cried. “ Who is she, cousin 
Euth?” 

She sprang upon the bench that she might have 
a better view, and gazed at the ship long and 
earnestly. 

“ I do not know,” she said at last. ‘‘I have 
never before seen her. But let us call the others 
— my father may know.” 

So I ran to the house and summoned them, a 
crowd of idle house-servants following us down to 
the water’s edge. The ship was almost opposite us, 
and we could see the people aboard her waving 
their hats to us, while a cheer came faintly across 
the water. We answered to the limit of our lungs, 
the negroes doing good service. 

“ I know not what ship she is,” said the colonel, 
as she sailed slowly past, “ but she is doubtless 
bound for Alexandria.” 

“ And see, papa,” cried Euth, “ there is an- 
other ! ” 

And there, indeed, another was, just coming into 
view. She passed us like the first, her passengers. 


110 


THE HERITAGE 


of whom there seemed a great number, cheering 
us as the others had done. She was scarcely by 
when a third appeared, and then a fourth, while we 
watched them in amazement. 

“ They are not ships of war,” said the colonel, 
“ or I should say the British were upon us again. 
Stay — I did hear a month back that a party of 
French was expected, who had bought land on the 
Ohio, but I did not credit the story. Perhaps 
these are the very Frenchmen.” 

“ If they be not afraid to enter the wilderness,” 
began Frederic, “why should we? ” 

“ Perhaps they know nothing of what is before 
them,” replied father. “ How could they, coming 
over-sea, from a land where every rood maintains 
its man ? ” 

“ Or perhaps they have found their ills at home 
greater than any others they could fear,” said the 
colonel quietly. “ They are a gallant, fearless 
people. Contact with the wilderness cannot harm 
them. Let us ride over to Alexandria to-morrow 
and see them, Chris.” 

“ My own thought, sir.” 

“ May we not go with you, sir ? ” asked Fred- 
eric, — a question which had been hot upon my 
tongue. 

“ Why, yes, surely,” laughed the colonel. “ ’T is 
time you youngsters were getting out into the 
world. What say you, Chris — shall the boys go ? ” 

“ As you please, sir,” answered father. “ Per- 
haps you are right ; we may have kept them too 
long in leading-strings.” 


OUR ALLY WINS OUR BATTLE 


111 


I saw mother’s anxious glance run over us, as 
though she scented some danger in the words ; but 
she said nothing, thinking, perhaps, that it were 
best to let sleeping dogs lie. Colonel Stewart, 
however, plainly thought the hour of action was at 
hand, and he returned to the charge that very 
evening as we sat about the candles. 

“ I think you were right this afternoon, Chris,” 
he began, “ when you said that you had kept the 
boys too long in leading-strings. Frederic tells me 
he will soon be twenty, and Stewart is but three 
years younger. They are nearly men in years, 
but they will be men in little else so long as you 
keep them tied at home.” 

I bit my lips to steady them, and I could see 
Frederic’s hand trembling on his chair-arm. 

“ No,” assented father, “ perhaps not.” 

“ There is only one forge in which real men are 
wrought,” added the colonel. “ That is the world. 
It is a great crucible, which will discover the best 
that is in a man. You must not be selfish, Chris ; 
you must let the boys go out and touch elbows 
with their fellows.” 

The alarm in mother’s eyes had deepened from 
the first moment of this conversation. She looked 
across at Mrs. Stewart for sympathy, but I fancy 
the colonel had already given his wife her cue. 

“ He is right, dear Margaret,” she said. 

“ Oh, but you have no boys,” cried mother, “ and 
there is no need that girls should go out into the 
world.” 

“No, thank God ! Yet if I had a son, I think 


112 


THE HERITAGE 


I should want him to make the best of himself, 
Margaret — more especially if he was such as 
yours.” 

It was an adroit bit of flattery, and mother 
smiled over it, though the iron was in her heart. 

“ Perhaps you are right, dear madam,” she mur- 
mured, “ but what is your plan, sir ? ” and she 
turned anxious eyes upon our host. “ I know you 
have a plan ; and I know, too, that none of us will 
say you nay.” 

I gripped my chair to keep myself upon it, else 
must I have gone capering along the hall for very 

joy* 

“ My plan,” said the colonel simply, “ is to send 
these boys forward to the Ohio country to place 
our claims — for you know I have one, Chris — 
and to look about them. Even if nothing more 
comes of it, the trip will be well worth taking, 
for our land, to be of value, cannot be too soon 
located.” 

“ But the danger,” began mother. 

“The danger, my dear, has been much over- 
stated. Besides, the arrival of these French has 
made the way quite easy. Let us send the boys 
with them, and there can be no possible danger. 
I will give them a letter to General St. Clair at 
Fort Harmer, and I am sure they will be as safe 
with him as they are sitting here with us.” 

The color came back to mother’s face again, and 
I could hear her draw a long breath of relief. 

“ Perhaps I have been foolish,” she said, “ but 
the thought of Them starting alone upon so long a 


OUR ALLY WINS OUR BATTLE 113 

journey frightened me. If you advise it, sir, and 
the boys still wish to go, I have nothing more to 
say.” 

Wish to go ! She had only to look at our shin- 
ing faces to have that question answered. 

“ There is another objection,” said father slowly. 
“ The cost of a trip over the mountains must be 
considerable, and I fear ” — 

“ Tut, tut ! ” cried the colonel, holding up his 
hand. “ Are they not going on my behalf as well 
as yours? Do not think me wholly selfish, sir! 
The least I could do would be to bear whatever 
expenses they incur.” 

So was our battle won ! 


CHAPTER XIII 


NEW FRIENDS 

It was scarce nine o’clock next morning when 
we cantered into the old town, and leaving our 
horses at the inn, made our way down to the water- 
front. The French, for it was indeed they who had 
arrived, had not yet disembarked. Their ships had 
just been warped inshore, and it seemed that all 
Alexandria had gathered to stare at the strangers. 

“ The very man I want ! ” cried a short, stout, 
red-faced little man, seizing Colonel Stewart by 
the arm, as we pushed our way through the crowd. 
“We’re in the devil of a mess, sir, for here has 
Colonel Franks, who was sent hither to receive 
these good people, posted off to New York, think- 
ing they had made that port instead of this. 
’T will '^be a fortnight ere we can get him back 
again.” 

“ Well, and what then ? ” asked the colonel. 

“Well, sir, we cannot let them pine away on 
board ship so long, so we have agreed to receive 
and entertain them until they are ready to start 
westward.” 

“ And very kind of you ! ” cried the colonel, 
nodding to three or four other men who had gath- 
ered about the speaker. 


NEW FRIENDS 


115 


“ Why, sir, nothing more than just,” said one of 
them. “We have not forgotten Yorktown.” 

“ Right ! ” and the colonel shook hands with him. 
“ Have you given them this invitation ? ” 

“We were just discussing the best way to do it, 
sir.” 

“ And would like to place the matter in your 
hands, sir,” added the first speaker. 

“ Yery well ; let us go aboard,” said the colonel, 
“and see what we can do toward straightening 
out the coil. But first let me introduce you to 
Major Randolph and his two sons, Mr. Dodds. 
Mr. Dodds is mayor of Alexandria,” he added. 

W e exchanged greetings with him and with the 
others, who were the members of his council, and 
we could judge by their bearing in how great 
esteem they held Colonel Stewart and any friends 
of his. 

“ Which is the chief ship ? ” asked the colonel. 

“The Belle Esprit, here,” said Mr. Dodds. 
“You will accompany us, gentlemen, I hope?” he 
added. “ I am anxious to make these poor people 
feel wholly welcome.” And we fell gladly in 
with the suggestion. 

We were soon on board, and Colonel Stewart 
asked to see the chief among the colonists. One 
of the crew hurried away to the cabin, whence 
there presently emerged a very handsome gentle- 
man with white hair and mustachios, and dressed 
with great care and brilliance. 

“ Je suis tres heureux,” began Colonel Stewart 
painfully. 


116 


THE HERITAGE 


“I speak English, sir,” interrupted the other 
smilingly, “ and am pleased always at opportunity 
to improve it.” 

“ Faith, I ’m glad to hear it,” laughed the colo- 
nel. “ My French is of the camp and goes halt- 
ingly upon three legs. My name is Stewart, sir, 
and I came aboard with these gentlemen to bid 
you welcome to this country, where your people 
will be ever remembered with gratitude and affec- 
tion.” 

“ And I am le Comte de Barth,” returned the 
other, bowing and taking the outstretched hand, 
“ and very happy to meet you, sir.” 

We were presented to him in turn, and for each 
of us he had a pleasant word. 

“ Your destination, I hear, is the Ohio country,” 
said the colonel, when the introductions had been 
made. 

“Yes — the Ohio. But, gentlemen, you must 
with me come to the cabin and meet my compatri- 
ots. We have need of counsel, which a glass of 
wine cannot but improve.” 

We followed him into the cabin, and there were 
presented to the Marquis Lezay-Marnesia and M. 
Paul Thiebaut, who, with M. le Comte, were, it 
seemed, the leaders of the expedition. Corks 
popped in a moment, and they pledged us with a 
grace quite fascinating. 

“And first, gentlemen,” said Colonel Stewart, 
when that ceremony was ended, “ Mr. Dodds here 
has commissioned me, on behalf of the people of 
Alexandria, to invite you to be their guests until 


NEW FRIENDS 


117 


such time as you are ready to start westward. The 
agent of the Scioto company, who was to have met 
you here, has gone to New York through some 
mistake, and you must be detained here some little 
time.” 

“ A thousand thanks, monsieur,” answered the 
Frenchman, and translated the invitation to the 
others with a rapidity of utterance which seemed 
to me quite unintelligible ; but they evidently un- 
derstood and were profuse in their acknowledg- 
ments. 

“We have felt,” said M. le Comte, “that in 
coming to Amerique we were coming among 
friends. Our country and your own have been so 
close together in the past, and our sympathies are 
so closely intertwined, that we have left our homes 
without regret — the more so since, for the mo- 
ment, the happy star of France is clouded.” 

“ What is your number, sir ? ” asked the colo- 
nel. 

“We shall have about five hundred when we 
are all arrived. There is another ship yet upon 
the way.” 

“ And do they know anything of the life of the 
frontier ? ” 

“ Very little, I fear. Most of them come from 
Paris.” 

“ But they doubtless have useful trades ? ” 

“Oh, yes; almost all have trades. We have 
with us ten carvers in wood, five peruke-makers, 
ten musicians, ten coach-makers, seven gilders, six 
makers of lace, three friseurs, ten barbers, three 


118 


THE HERITAGE 


clock-makers, two artisans, two sculpteurs, two 
ebenistes — I know not your word for it — three 
maitres de danse ” — 

He had proceeded with this list so calmly that 
Colonel Stewart had for the moment merely stared 
at him, thinking, perhaps, that he was jesting ; but 
it dawned on him at last that the speaker was in 
earnest. 

“ But, my dear sir,” he burst out, “ what occu- 
pation will gilders find in the wilderness, where 
there is nothing to gild ; or coach-makers, where 
there are no roads ; or architects, where the great- 
est edifice is a log cabin ; or wig-makers, when it 
is aU a man can do to keep his own hair safe from 
the savages ? Tell me, rather, can they wield an 
axe ? Are they skilled with the rifle ? Those are 
the things that count, for with the axe they must 
clear their land before they can plant it ; and upon 
the rifle they must depend largely for food until 
their crops mature.” 

It was the Frenchman’s turn to stare. 

“ I am not sure that I understand you wholly, 
monsieur,” he said after a moment. “Did you 
say that our land is not yet cleared ? ” 

“ Assuredly not — not a rod of it ! ” snorted the 
colonel. “ There ’s not an acre of cleared land 
north of the Ohio save right about the military 
posts.” 

“ But our maps no say not so ! ” protested the 
other, forgetting his idioms in the excitement of 
the moment. 

“ Your maps ? Let me see them, sir.” 


NEW FRIENDS 


119 


A great map was taken from a case upon the 
wall and spread carefully upon the table. Colonel 
Stewart ran his finger over it. 

“ ‘ Habite et defriche,’ ” he read. “ Inhabited 
and cleared.” And again, farther down, “‘In- 
habited and cleared ; building stone, lead mines, 
salt springs, coal mines.’ Why, this makes it a 
very paradise ready for man’s coming ! ” and he 
continued his examination, but I could see from his 
shaking hand how deeply he was moved. At last 
he looked up at us with such a light in his eyes as 
I had never seen there. “Gentlemen,” he said, 
“ there is no need that I should mince my words. 
This map is the most outrageous of impostures. 
All this land which is marked ‘ settled and cleared ’ 
is, with the exception of a few acres along the 
river, a howling wilderness, a virgin forest, where 
not a white man lives, given over entirely to the 
Indians. May I ask, sir, where you got this 
map ? ” 

“ The map is a copy of that used in Paris by 
Monsieur Barlow, the agent of the company,” an- 
swered M. le Comte, trying to speak calmly, but 
with livid face. “ If they have deceived us, par- 
dieu ! they shall answer for it ! ” and as I looked 
into his eyes I thought that Barlow might count 
himself fortunate that the broad ocean rolled be- 
tween him and his victims. 

“I am sure,” began Colonel Stewart quickly, 
his own anger cooling somewhat at sight of theirs, 
“ that the members of the company in this country 
could not have been parties to the swindle. I 


120 


THE HERITAGE 


know many of them personally for honorable men 
who would scorn such meanness. You may rest 
assured, sir, that they will do their utmost to get 
justice done you.” 

“ I will believe you, sir ! ” cried the other. “ I 
still trust that we have come to a land of friends. 
Many of us have invested our whole fortune in 
this venture. We have bought large tracts of 
this land, which, we are told, must become very 
valuable.” 

“ So it must,” admitted the colonel. “ There can 
be no doubt of that. But it will be a matter of 
many years, sir ; very many years, I fear. StiU it 
is not for me to discourage you. This is your 
town, is it — here opposite the mouth of the Kana- 
wha ? ” 

“ Yes ; Premiere Ville — though I think we 
shall name it Gallipolis. The company has 
agreed to have houses prepared for us by the time 
we arrive.” 

“The company will keep its agreements, sir,” 
said the colonel, “ so far as lies in its power. You 
may rely upon that. But what I came here for 
principally was to ask your permission that these 
two young men accompany your party on the trip 
across the mountains.” 

“ Most willingly,” rejoined the other, with the 
utmost heartiness. “We shall be very glad to 
have them.” 

“ Thank you, sir. They have some land to lo- 
cate in the west,” explained the colonel, “ and I 
will make bold to give them a letter to General 


NEW FRIENDS 


121 


St. Clair, the governor of the territory, which may 
be of service -to you.” 

“ You are too kind, sir. I begin to see we shall 
have need of friends.” 

“We all of us need them,” rejoined the colo- 
nel, smiling, not choosing to see the Frenchman’s 
meaning, and we took our leave soon after, Mr. 
Dodds repeating the invitation that the colonists 
become the guests of the Alexandrians. 

All on the homeward way. Colonel Stewart was 
fuming openly at the trickery which had got these 
poor Parisians to tempt the perils of the west. 

“ They will be the merest babes in the wood,” 
he declared. “ A pretty way for us to repay the 
confidence they have in us ! ” 

Nor was his anger lessened when he learned, 
some days later, that the land sold to the French 
did not belong to the Scioto associates at all, be- 
ing some miles beyond their purchase. A com- 
mittee composed of the three gentlemen we had 
met on shipboard was appointed to investigate 
this question. They waited on Colonel Duer, who 
was the head and front of the enterprise, and that 
gentleman assured them that though the land still 
belonged to the government, there could be no 
doubt that title would be granted by the Congress 
at its coming session ; and thus enheartened, they 
pushed forward the preparations for the westward 
journey. 

As for ourselves, we had little preparation to 
make. The most of it fell to the women, who in- 
sisted that we must have a complete new ward- 


122 


THE HERITAGE 


robe, since Heaven alone knew when we should be 
able to replenish it. Both Colonel Stewart and 
father had secured their warrants from the register 
of public lands, and these important documents, 
together with letters to General St. Clair and 
General Putnam and a supply of money, were 
lodged safely in a wallet and intrusted to Frederic’s 
keeping. 

But the arrangements for the great body of 
colonists could not be made so easily, and the 
whole of June dragged by. We were back and 
forth to Alexandria often, and finally determined 
to remain there that we might grow better ac- 
quainted with our new companions and assist 
them in every way we could. We found among 
them many lovely people, none more so than Dr. 
Saugrain, his wife and daughter, with whom, it 
chanced, we were thrown much in contact. The 
little inn had been quite filled with the more 
wealthy of the adventurers, who had left their 
poorer followers to partake of private hospitality, 
so that Frederic and I were forced to seek for enter- 
tainment elsewhere. It was fat Mr. Dodds who 
finally took us in, and we found M. Saugrain and 
his family already domiciled with him. 

That sprightly little man — he could reach at 
utmost no more than four feet six — had already 
set up his chemical apparatus in a small apartment, 
and I spent many hours there watching with as- 
tonishment the miracles he performed with blow- 
pipe and crucible, and incidentally gaining some 
slight knowledge of his tongue. His wife and his 


NEW FRIENDS 


123 


daughter, Suzanne, brought their work sometimes 
and came to chatter with him. What a triumph 
it was when I found myself able to understand a 
word here and there ! Suzanne, too, was picking 
up from me a little painful English. 

“Vous comprenez, monsieur,” she would say, 
“ zat I no long can be une Parisienne — je suis 
d’Amerique. So I vish de langue it to learn.” 

As I read it over, what a libel is that sentence 
on her soft, fluent, delicious utterance ! I shall 
not again try to indicate it, for the task is worse 
than useless. 

But about the doctor. I think good Mr. Dodds 
was inclined at first to think him in league with 
the devil, such wonders did he perform, but the 
little man’s kindness and sweetness of temper 
would disarm any suspicion. He made little phos- 
phorus matches, and had a dozen wooden swans 
which would swim around in a basin of water, 
governed, I suppose, by a magnet. His blowpipe 
was a veritable magic wand, and Suzanne, her 
black eyes dancing, would sit and laugh at me as 
I stared at him, and make biting little remarks to 
her mother anent the denseness of the Americans. 

Another woman came into our lives there, too, 
though into Frederic’s more than mine. M. le 
Comte de Barth had duly introduced us to his son, 
M. Bourogne, and to his daughter. Mademoiselle 
Elise, remarking with a shrug that it was only the 
desperate condition of affairs at home which had 
persuaded him to bring her on this voyage. The 
fourth member of his household was an elderly 


124 


THE HERITAGE 


sister or cousin, I know not which, who acted as 
duenna to the girl — if sitting by sound asleep can 
be said to constitute the duty of that office. We 
sometimes went together to call upon them at the 
little house just beyond the inn which M. le Comte 
had secured, and one morning as we entered the 
house, we heard the sharp clash of steel from the 
garden back of it. In a moment. Mademoiselle 
Elise entered, rosy and panting, a foil in her 
hand. 

“ It is the hour of my le^on d’escrime,” she ex- 
plained. “ Would messieurs care to come into 
the garden ? ” 

“ Indeed we should ! ” responded Frederic 
eagerly. 

“Perhaps monsieur fences?” she suggested, 
seeing the light in his eyes. 

“Very poorly, I fear,” said Frederic. 

“ You must permit me to judge,” she laughed, 
as we followed her. 

“ But first, let me present you to the best tireur 
d’armes in Paris — M. le Vicomte de Malartie, 
these are two friends of mine. Messieurs Randolph 
and Rohlman.” 

Malartie bowed. 

“ I have asked M. Rohlman for the honor of 
crossing with him,” she added. “May he have 
your foil, monsieur ? ” 

Malartie, with an amused smile, handed his 
foil to Frederic. He had worn neither mask nor 
pad, but he motioned to where they lay on a near- 
by bench. Frederic shook his head. 


NEW FRIENDS 


125 


“ No, thank you,” he said, and he took his place 
opposite Mademoiselle Elise, determined, no doubt, 
to use her very tenderly. They saluted, their 
blades touched, and the next instant, as it seemed 
to me, his flew from his hand, and she was laughing 
merrily into his chagrined eyes. 

“ It is a trick ! ” she cried. “ M. de Malartie 
taught it me.” 

Frederic picked up his foil and turned back to 
her with a very red face. 

“ It is a good trick, mademoiselle,” he said. “ I 
must get M. le Vicomte to teach it to me also.” 

They crossed again, but plainly he was not her 
equal in the art. How could he be when he had 
had no better master than my father, who, in the 
rough school of camp and battle, had long forgot 
the niceties of play ? So, after a time, he grew 
weary of the game and stepped back with a little 
laugh. 

“ I salute you,” he said. “ You have shown me, 
mademoiselle, what a bungler I am.” 

He gave the foil to Malartie, and sank down on 
the bench beside me. In the moments that fol- 
lowed, we both of us, I think, gained for the first 
time some understanding of the subtleties of the 
art. The foil, in Malartie’s hand, became a living 
thing, frail, quivering, light as a reed; yet, on 
occasion, a very wall of steel before him. It was 
plain enough why he wore no mask, — he needed 
none with that defense. Yet did the girl, too, com- 
pel our admiration, she was so quick, so deft, so 
fertile in resource. The color flamed high in her 


126 


THE HERITAGE 


cheeks and the light in her eyes ; her hair, loos- 
ened by her rapid movements, fell like a golden 
cloud about her face. So they went back and 
forth, a sight for gods to look at, until, of a sud- 
den, her blade flashed past Malartie’s like a light- 
ning stroke, and she sprang back with a little cry 
of triumph. 

“ Touche ! he cried. “ Mes compliments ! I 
wondered, mademoiselle, if you would see the 
opening. That thrust was a masterpiece. Did 
you not think so, messieurs ? ” 

“ Indeed, yes ! ” said Frederic, drawing a deep 
breath. “ That was the finest sight, sir, that I 
have ever looked upon. I would give my soul, I 
think, could I handle the rapier so.” 

“ The skill may be had at a far lighter price,” 
laughed Mademoiselle de Barth. “ As you are to 
accompany us to the west, I am sure Monsieur le 
Vicomte will find many opportunities to instruct 
you.” 

“ Oh, if he would ! ” cried Frederic, with glow- 
ing face. “ But I fear that would be asking too 
much of you, monsieur, and I have no way to re- 
pay you.” 

“ I should be delighted,” said the Frenchman, 
bowing. “ With monsieur’s lightness of figure 
and length of reach, he should make a good 
swordsman. As for pay, monsieur’s friendship 
will be pay enough.” 

Frederic held out his hand eagerly, and so the 
compact was sealed. Almost every morning after 
that he was off to profit by Malartie’s teaching. 


NEW FRIENDS 


127 


I went with him once or twice, but soon found 
that I was only in the way ; and so it came to 
pass that I sat often with the little doctor and his 
family, wondering at his experiments, and at the 
immeasurable cheerfulness with which he looked 
forward to the long journey which lay before him. 

For the day was drawing near when that jour- 
ney was to commence, and at last Frederic and I 
rode back together to Riverview to bid adieu to 
the dear people there. 


CHAPTER XIV 


I PLAY THE FOOL 

It was good to be at home, and to sit down again 
in our familiar places. As I looked at the others, 
one by one, I fancied that father and mother both 
seemed in better spirits than I had seen them since 
we had driven away from Wyndham ; while, on 
the contrary, Mistress Ruth appeared to have 
grown more pensive. 

“ And what think you of the French, boys ? ” 
asked our host, smiling down upon us from the 
table-head. 

“ A kindly people,” said Frederic, “ with a 
courage beyond the reach of fear.” 

“ Whose women can give us lessons with the 
small-sword,” I added, not sorry at the chance to 
give Frederic a gentle prod concerning Mademoi- 
selle Elise, of whom I was growing somewhat jeal- 
ous. “ At least I saw one of them disarm Fred- 
eric very neatly.” 

“ Let us have the story, Stewart,” commanded 
the colonel, and I told it, with such adornments as 
the invention of the moment permitted. 

“ Well, ’t is no disgrace to be disarmed by such 
a woman,” laughed the colonel, when I had ended. 
“ Still I trust you have improved your play, my 
boy.” 


I PLAY THE FOOL 


129 


“ I have done my best, sir,” answered Frederic. 

“ I had a Frenchman for a teacher, too,” and 
our host’s voice took a reminiscent tinge, “ a sol- 
dier of fortune, and I found the knowledge useful, 
— though not against the Indians.” 

“ It is not against the Indians, sir,*that I expect 
to use it,” said Frederic quietly. 

“ But has Stewart, here, with his soft heart, had 
no escapades?” demanded the colonel. “Was 
there no fair damsel to lead him captive ? ” 

“ Indeed there was ! ” and it was Frederic’s 
turn. “ A black-eyed maid named Suzanne. He 
is quite fast in the coils.” 

I saw Ruth look suddenly at me from across the 
table. 

“ I always did like black eyes,” I said tentatively. 

“ Hear the boy ! ” laughed our host. “ He talks 
like a connoisseur. You had best beware of this 
black-eyed fairy, Stewart ; Suzanne seems to me a 
very dangerous name for any girl to have. And 
that reminds me,” he added, “ I intend to have 
your friends here for my guests before they start 
westward. When think you that will be ? ” 

“Within the week, sir,” answered Frederic. 
“ Not later, certainly.” 

“ Then I will ride after them to-morrow,” said 
the colonel, who was nothing if not a man of 
action ; and next morning, sure enough, off he 
went, taking the great coach with him, and warn- 
ing his wife to be prepared for a half dozen guests 
at the least. 

I went to the library for a last browse among 


130 


THE HERITAGE 


the volumes there, and presently, from the window, 
I caught a glimpse of Kuth and Frederic walking 
along the avenue afar off, deep in talk. I watched 
them until they passed from sight among the 
trees, and then turned ruefully back to my page. 
’T is indeed a bitter thing to look at happiness 
through another’s eyes — as the Master has said 
before me. 

After that the day dragged drearily enough, for 
the books had lost their savor, and I was warm 
and restless. Frederic came into the library after 
lunch, but he, too, seemed distrait, and soon wan- 
dered out again. I saw him ride forth presently, 
and wondered that I myself had not thought of 
that method of driving away the blues. I leaned 
out over the window-seat looking after him, when 
a step in the room behind me brought me round 
with a start. 

“ Oh, is it you, cousin ? ” cried a voice. “ I 
thought you had gone riding.” 

“ ’T was Frederic who went riding,” I said ; and 
could not resist adding, “ unfortunately.” 

She sank into a chair with a little sigh. 

“ It is very warm,” she said. “ Do you not 
think so, cousin ? ” 

“ Yes, — very warm,” I assented shortly. 

“ And we are to have all those horrid French- 
men here to-night.” 

“ They are not horrid,” I protested hotly. “ You 
will be the last to call them so.” 

“ Nor the Frenchwomen, either ? ” she ques- 
tioned scornfully. 


I PLAY THE FOOL 


131 


“ No, nor the Frenchwomen, either ! I am sure 
that I have found them far from horrid.” 

“ But do you nof^think it bold,” she persisted, 
“ that-a* girl should play at fencing with a man ? ” 

A sudden light broke upon me, and I laughed 
as I looked at her. So she was jealous of Fred- 
eric I Well, she would get small comfort from me. 

“ I thought it splendid the only time I ever saw 
it,” I answered, “ though it has probably occurred 
since a hundred times. I remember Frederic said 
it was the finest sight he had ever looked upon.” 

“ Did he, indeed ! ” and her lip curled disdain- 
fully. 

“ And you would have said so, too,” I went on, 
bent on turning the knife in the wound, to ease 
my own pain a little at the sight of hers, “ Made- 
moiselle de Barth is a beautiful woman.” 

“ And so is this Suzanne, I dare say,” she sug- 
gested, looking at me from under her lashes. 

But I was not to be diverted from the torture. 

“ Suzanne is very well,” I said, “ but of quite a 
different type. She is only a girl, you know, a 
very pretty and jolly one ; but Mademoiselle Elise 
has what they call the grand air. And then, she 
is such a splendid type, such a match for Frederic. 
Suzanne is dark, and reminds me of you when I 
look at her ; but Mademoiselle Elise has hair the 
most golden, eyes the bluest.” 

I stopped. She was no longer looking at me, 
but out the window, and I could have sworn that 
she was smiling. 

“ ’T would not be at all surprising should Fred- 


132 


THE HERITAGE 


eric lose his heart to her,” I concluded, determined 
to strike home, since she affected to disdain lighter 
blows. “ Indeed, he may have already done so.” 

She puUed her mouth down with a doleful little 
grimace, which did not seem quite genuine. 

“That would be a pity, wouldn’t it?” she 
asked. 

Now how is a man to fathom a woman’s heart ? 
Here had I been doing my best to wound her, and 
she laughing at me ! It was Mademoiselle Elise 
and Frederic over again — here was I disarmed by 
a minx who wielded a weapon far more subtle than 
any rapier. So I sat looking at her, not finding a 
word to say. 

“ And you have learned to speak their ugly lan- 
guage, I suppose ? ” she asked. 

“ ’T is not an ugly language,” I said sulkily, 
“ but the sweetest, softest one I ever heard. Yes, 
I have learned to speak it a little.” 

“ But these others speak English, do they 
not ? ” 

“ Yes ; most of them much better than I speak 
French.” 

“ Then you must promise me something, 
Stewart,” she said, looking at me with her best 
eyes. 

“ What is it ? ” I asked. 

“ That you will speak only English to them 
while they are here. I do not understand two 
words of French, and I can’t bear to have people 
talking before me and I not know what they say. 
Besides,” she added ingenuously, “ since they have 


I PLAY THE FOOL 


133 


come to America, since this is to be their home, 
the sooner they learn our language the better ; 
don’t you think so ? ” 

What a spoiled child it was ! But there was no 
resisting her — besides, that look was worth it — 
so I promised. 

“ Thank you, sir,” she said, with beaming face. 
“ Now, if you wish, as a reward you may walk 
around my garden with me.” 

I followed her down the path to the garden, 
with its high hedge, its tangle of shrubbery, 
its formal, box-edged beds of flowers. Straight 
through the centre ran a broad path to a bower at 
the western side, overhung by clematis and honey- 
suckle ; behind it rose a gentle terrace, where a 
vineyard had been planted years before. 

“ It makes me think always of Angelo’s gar- 
den,” she said, “ ‘ whose westward side is with a 
vineyard backed.’ Only this is circummured with 
box and not with brick.” 

“ Angelo’s garden ? ” I repeated at a loss, and 
paused a moment to look at her — she knew her 
Poet far better than I, there could be no doubt of 
that. 

“You see,” she explained with a little laugh, 
interpreting my look, “ a girl has so little else to 
do, while a boy ” — 

“ May waste his time as shamelessly as he 
please, and no one blame him.” 

“ And then my father loves the dramas so. He 
is always reading them. He likes me to read them 
to him.” 


134 


THE HERITAGE 


“ Why seek to find excuses for me, cousin 
Kuth ? ” I asked bitterly. “ Let us admit at once 
that I am stupid — that I have suffered my wits 
to run to weeds.” 

We had reached the bower and she sank down 
upon the seat, looking up at me with a queer little 
smile. 

“ I do not think you stupid, Stewart,” she said, 
“but I find you very puzzling sometimes. To 
look at you, one would imagine you good-natured, 
and yet ” — 

“ And yet you have found appearances deceit- 
ful ? I used to be good-natured, Kuth.” 

“ Used to be ? Then why not now, Stewart ? ” 

“ Would you ask Tantalus to be good-natured ? ” 
I demanded, with some warmth. 

She looked at me covertly, from under her long 
lashes. 

“No, that isn’t true,” I said slowly. “I am 
not Tantalus ; I am only cross and stupid and not 
brave enough to take my medicine without a 
grimace.” 

Still she sat silent, playing with her bonnet- 
strings, but I had grip of myself again and so was 
strong enough to look away from her down the 
path, at the boscage round the house. 

“ It is a pretty view, is n’t it,” she said at last, 
“ the vista with the house at the end ? My room 
overlooks the garden — those are my windows you 
see. But come — this is n’t visiting the flowers — 
I ’m beginning to think we are both stupid. See 
these cornelian roses — they are just in their glory 


I PLAY THE FOOL 


135 


now.” She led the way from bed to bed, from 
flower to flower, I following and finding her better 
worth looking at than any of her blooms. “ Don’t 
you love flowers, Stewart ? ” she asked. 

“ Not so much as some other things.” 

“ I do,” she retorted. “ More than anything ; 
because they are always lovely to me — never cross, 
or tiresome, or puzzling — and they never lecture. 
I detest a lecturer.” 

She glanced up at me slyly, but the shot flew 
wide of the mark, for I was quite sure she was not 
in earnest. 

“And now I must send you about your busi- 
ness, sir,” she said, in punishment, perhaps, for 
my not wincing. “ I have a thousand things to 
do.” 

I watched her until she had disappeared in- 
doors, and then went slowly back to the library. 
But I left my book where I had laid it — I could 
not read ; I could only stretch out upon the win- 
dow-seat and look out across the fields, and think 
and think on my unhappy fortune. 

Just as evening fell, the coach rumbled up to 
the door, and such a merry crowd as scrambled 
out of it ! There was M. le Comte, and there was 
his son, and — wonder of wonders ! — his daughter. 
Yes, and there were Dr. Saugrain and black-eyed 
Suzanne and M. de Malartie ! Six of them, and 
just the six I should have chosen ! By what wiz- 
ardry Colonel Stewart had got them together — 
how he had brought about such a daring infraction 
of the convenances — no chaperone, good heavens I 


136 


THE HERITAGE 


— I never knew; but I have always thought it 
one of his most remarkable exploits. Perhaps the 
spirit of the New World was already in their 
veins. At any rate, he stood there and did the 
honors quite as simply as though it were the most 
ordinary thing in the world. I confess to some 
misgivings when he presented Mistress Ruth to 
the ladies, rather looking to see her plunge some 
subtle verbal dagger into their bosoms — which 
only shows what a fool I was, for she did no such 
thing, but welcomed them with a warmth so seem- 
ingly genuine and unaffected that my opinion of 
the essential duplicity of woman was more than 
ever strengthened. 

But the event fell out just as I had feared. M. 
Bourogne at once appropriated Ruth, Frederic 
turned to Elise, and I was left with Suzanne. Not 
but that Suzanne could be a charming comrade, 
but the sight of Bourogne smiling into his part- 
ner’s face quite spoiled the dinner for me. But 
the others heeded me not at all and the table rang 
with mirth. I had never seen Colonel Stewart in 
such fettle. At his right sat M. le Comte, won- 
dering inwardly, perhaps, at the habits of these 
strange Americans. At his left was M. le Vi- 
comte de Malartie, one time captain in the Six- 
teenth Louis’s guards, hero of a hundred feats of 
arms, soldier of fortune in a dozen wars. Across 
from them smiled the round face of Dr. Saugrain, 
physician, philosopher, alchemist, and as ready 
with his wit as Malartie with his sword. We 
others but sat and listened for the most part ; but 


I PLAY THE FOOL 


137 


my ear was deadened like a funeral drum, for 
across from me sat that impudent Bourogne, and 
by his side my cousin, all her hatred of the French 
palpably forgotten. 

“ I have heard great tales of your prowess, sir,” 
said the colonel to his neighbor at the left. 
“ When I was a boy, I was rather proud of my 
own play, till a better man than I taught me a les- 
son. Then, you see, I lost my sword hand, and 
that was over. And you, M. le Comte, you have 
taken part, I dare say, in more than one affair ? ” 

“ More than one ' — yes, monsieur.” He smiled 
reminiscently. But my hand grows old and my 
wrist stiff. I have passed the sword on to my son.” 

“ And you, dear doctor,” began the colonel. 

“ I, monsieur,” — and the kindly little man 
laughed, — “I early perceived that my figure was 
not made for fighting, and so chose a profession 
accordingly. I hope never to appear upon a field 
of battle,” he added. “ I fear I could not even 
run away.” 

The wine had gone up and down, for these were 
seasoned drinkers. A kind of fierce joy was run- 
ning through my veins. 

“ I propose a toast,” cried Colonel Stewart at 
last. “ May France and America be ever friends 
and champions of liberty ! ” 

“ Amen ! ” said Malartie, and the toast was 
drunk. 

“ And I,” said father, “ ask you to drink to the 
success of this enterprise upon which these friends 
of ours have entered.” 


138 


THE HERITAGE 


“ And I,” said M. le Comte, “ propose the health 
and long life of Colonel Stewart and his charming 
lady ; and may we one day be able to repay their 
kindness.” 

They were coming fast, indeed, but the nimble 
negroes kept the glasses filled. 

“ And I,” said M. Bourogne, struggling to his 
feet, “propose the health of a lady the most 
charming I have met in the New World — who 
would be an ornament to any world — Mademoi- 
selle Ruth.” 

The scoundrel ! That he should dare to call her 
so ! Yet I drank the toast, for I fancied he was 
looking at me, daring me. 

It was the doctor’s turn. 

“ It is far from me,” he said, “ to dispute a sin- 
gle word that my young friend has uttered ; yet, 
in this new world, I find the charms of the maids 
more than matched by those of their mothers. I 
propose the health of Madam Stewart and Madam 
Randolph.” 

How they applauded the little doctor, until he 
grew quite rosy with pleasure ! But who was that 
speaking? Not Frederic, surely ! 

“ Among the Greeks,” he was saying, “ clear- 
eyed Diana — that bold and fearless huntress — 
was placed high among the other goddesses. They 
pictured her as strong of limb and sure of hand 
and fleet of foot — perfect in every part. There 
is one here to-night who might match Diana in 
any of these things, and I propose her health — 
Mademoiselle Elise ! ” 


I PLAY THE FOOL 


139 


Ah, cousin, I thought, as I drank it down, there 
is a blow for you ! Well, I will add another. 

“ Greece is a long way off,” I began, gripping 
the table, which seemed to be swaying strangely, 
“ and Diana lived, oh, many years ago. The Greeks 
were no doubt right in worshiping her ; but I am 
sure, were they here to-night, they would think of 
her no longer — they would pour their libations to 
the lady whose health I drink — Suzanne ! ” 

“ Bravo ! ” cried Malartie, and as I dropped into 
my seat, I heard them laughing up and down the 
board. Then the ladies rose to go, and as she 
passed my chair, Suzanne leaned toward me for 
the briefest instant. 

“ You foolish boy ! ” she whispered. 


CHAPTER XV 


WESTWARD ho! 

“ Did I make a very great fool of myself, Fred- 
eric?” I asked in the morning, having but an 
indistinct recollection of the events that had closed 
the evening’s entertainment. 

“ No more than some others of us,” he answered 
shortly. “ For you there was at least the excuse 
of youth.” 

I went downstairs, very penitent and shame- 
faced, and found that our guests were already 
astir. I saw Bourogne take possession of Ruth, 
as though quite by right, and walk away with her. 
Then I caught the flash of Suzanne’s eyes, and 
hastened to her side with an eagerness somewhat 
simulated. 

“ You do well to come I ” she cried, as I joined 
her. “ I trust you are properly repentant this 
morning, my friend ? ” 

“ Repentant ? And for what, Suzanne ? ” 

“ For that persiflage of last night. You quite 
shamed me, sir ! ” 

We had drifted away out of earshot of the others, 
not heeding the breakfast bell, and a sudden devil 
of perverseness possessed me. 

“ I see not why it should shame you, Suzanne,” 
I said. 


WESTWARD HO! 


141 


“Because one likes not being — what do you 
call it ? — made fun of. If you had been in ear- 
nest ” — 

“ But I was in earnest, Suzanne ! ” I protested, 
looking down at the wave of her hair, the curve 
of her cheek — after all, there were other girls 
than Mistress Kuth — just as lovely, and not nearly 
so intricate. 

But Suzanne looked up at me with her great eyes 
in quite a frightened way. 

“ Oh, no, no ! ” she cried. “ Do not say that ! 
nothing would displease me more ! ’’ 

“ But why, Suzanne ? ” I asked, astonished at 
her vehemence — and somewhat injured in my self- 
esteem. 

She hesitated a moment, and then looked up at 
me again, quite bravely. 

“ Because I know it is not true. Monsieur Ran- 
dolph,” she said softly. “ I can read your heart. 
You will forgive me if I have wounded you.” 

“ A thousand times ! ” I cried, crimson with 
shame. “ It is I who should ask forgiveness.” 

“ You are forgiven, sir,” she answered sedately. 
“ Only please do not offend again, and we may still 
be friends.” 

“You may trust me,” I said contritely. “It 
seems I can be a fool by day as well as by night.” 

She glanced up at my shamed, rueful face, and 
her eyes were dancing. 

“ Most men can,” she said. “ Come, we must 
join the others.” 

They were already at table, and there was an 


142 


THE HERITAGE^ 


instant’s significant silence as we entered and 
took our places. I saw the little doctor frowning 
thoughtfully down into his plate ; but it was not 
for some moments that I mustered courage to 
glance at Ruth. She was deep in talk with Bou- 
rogne, whom I began to think insufferable, and 
seemed not to know that I was present. He re- 
mained with her until the moment of departure, 
which, thank Heaven, was not long delayed ; and 
it was with a sense of relief which shamed me that 
I saw the coach roll away down the road. Elise 
and Suzanne were well enough, the doctor was 
adorable, but Bourogne — I had never thought 
that Ruth could be so foolish. 

“ Why so pensive ? ” asked a mocking voice 
above me. “ Is it the black eyes or the blue ? ” 

She was leaning over the porch-rail, and I had 
never seen her so alluring. 

“ ’T is neither,” I answered briefly. “ You, at 
least, seem to have quite recovered.” 

“ Recovered ? ” 

“ From the pain of parting. But perhaps he 
has promised to soon return ? ” 

“ Perhaps he has,” she retorted, her cheeks flush- 
ing. “ In any case, ’t is no concern of yours ! ” 

I took the blow full in the face. 

“ No,” I said ; “ you are right. I shall remem- 
ber hereafter,” and I stalked away with what dig- 
nity I could muster. 

The evening passed miserably enough. We 
were all of us out of sorts — all except our host — 
the women from the grief of parting, Frederic and 


WESTWARD HO! 


143 


I from another cause. Mistress Ruth was not 
visible the whole evening. We were to set out on 
the morrow for Alexandria, and thither Colonel 
Stewart and father would accompany us to bid us 
a last Godspeed at the start, which was to be 
made next day. More than once I saw mother 
furtively wiping her eyes over the last devoted 
stitches, and when we rose to say good-night, she 
caught us convulsively in her arms and kissed us. 
I awoke late in the night, and for an instant fan- 
cied myself a boy again and the British in the 
house, for she was kneeling by the bed, her face 
buried in the pillow. 

“Dear mother,” I said, and stroked her hair 
gently. 

She got slowly to her feet and leaned over me 
and pressed her cheek to mine. 

“ There,” she whispered. “ Go to sleep again, 
dear. I should not have waked you,” and she went 
softly from the room. 

In the morning she was almost cheerful, and 
was busy with the last packing of our boxes when 
I came downstairs. Colonel Stewart had stipu- 
lated that we should take but two small ones, and 
at last they were packed and deposited upon the 
cart, which was started off at once for Alexandria. 

Colonel Stewart’s voice was more than usually 
expressive that morning as he led the service. 
The lesson, I remember, was from the sixth chap- 
ter of Exodus, and we sat very silent, listening as 
he read: — 

“ Wherefore say unto the children of Israel, I 


144 


THE HERITAGE 


am the Lord, and I wiU bring you out from under 
the burdens of the Egyptians, and I will rid you 
of their bondage, and I will redeem you with a 
stretched-out arm, and with great judgments : 

“ And I will take you to me for a people, and I 
will be to you a God ; and ye shall know that I 
am the Lord your God, which bringeth you out 
from under the burdens of the Egyptians. 

“ And I will bring you unto the land, concern- 
ing the which I did swear to give it to Abraham, to 
Isaac, and to J acob ; and I will give it to you for 
a heritage : I am the Lord.” 

He closed the book and went on with the prayer 
— I had heard it often before, yet never really 
until now. 

“ O eternal God, we commend to thy almighty 
protection, these thy servants ; guard them, we 
beseech thee, from the perils of the wilderness, 
from sickness, from the violence of enemies, and 
from every evil to which they may be exposed. 
Conduct them in safety to the haven where they 
would be, with a grateful sense of thy mercies, 
through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.” 

So, I doubt not, night and morning, during all 
the years of our absence, that prayer arose in that 
devoted house, and who dare say that it remained 
unanswered ? 

Breakfast was soon over, — excitement had 
robbed both Frederic and me of our appetites, — 
and the horses were ordered from the stables. 

“ And now, my dears,” began the colonel, ad- 
dressing the assembled company, “ I want to say 


WESTWARD HO! 


145 


again that there is no great hazard in this journey 
which the boys are starting on. They will write 
us, of course, whenever chance offers, but they 
must know that we are not worrying about them. 
As for you, boys, you are not to incur any danger 
needlessly, yet never forget that you are men, and 
so must play a man’s part. Here are the horses, 
so say good-by.” 

A kiss and close embrace from mother and Mrs. 
Stewart, and I found Ruth’s hand in mine. 

“ I was wrong yesterday, dear Ruth,” I began 
brokenly, 

“No, it was I who was wrong, dear cousin,” 
she said very softly, “only I couldn’t admit it 
until you did, sir.” And while I was yet striving 
to unravel this bit of logic, she held up her face 
to me. “ I think I should like you to kiss me 
also, Stewart.” 

I bent and touched her lips with mine, then went 
blindly from the room, not venturing a backward 
glance, and threw myself ‘into the saddle. They 
trooped out after us, and we were off. 

For the first mile or two I saw nothing of the 
road, then the fresh air of the morning steadied 
my pulse and cleared my brain. Youth, the heart- 
less, looks not back but forward, and b3»- the time 
we cantered into Alexandria the future had quite 
claimed my thoughts. We stopped that night with 
Mr. Dodds, and assisted Dr. Saugrain in packing 
away the last of his priceless instruments. He was 
in great fear lest they should not make safely the 
passage of the mountains, but not even this could 


146 


THE HERITAGE 


disturb the sweetness of his temper, and he and 
Colonel Stewart, who had found themselves alike 
in many things, sat far into the night talking of 
France, of war, of women, and I know not what 
beside. 

All Alexandria turned out next day to see the 
caravan start on its long journey. No other word 
describes that aggregation, for it seemed that 
every horse and wagon in the states must have 
been mustered to convey the colonists westward. 

“ Why, ’t is a second Brad dock’s army,” laughed 
Colonel Stewart, as we watched the procession file 
slowly past, and when M. le Comte rode up to say 
adieu, he added, “ You will have need of diligence, 
sir, or frost will find you still in the mountains.” 

“ I know it, sir,” replied that gentleman, “ yet 
what can be done? The Scioto Company has 
agreed to furnish transportation free of cost, and 
in consequence many things were brought from 
France which might well be left behind.” 

“ Well, in this, at least, the company is getting 
the worst of the bargain. I have not seen your 
son,” he added. “ Is he with the rear ? ” 

“ My son left yesterday for New York, sir, to 
straighten out, if possible, this question of title.” 

I breathed a little sigh of relief. I was truly 
glad Bourogne was not to go with us. 

“ Well, good-by and good fortune, sir,” said the 
colonel, “ and my heartiest regard.” 

“ Always shall I remember with gratitude your 
kindness,” answered the Frenchman with emotion, 
and put spur to his horse. 


WESTWARD HO! 


147 


“ I T1 wager he T1 be on foot before the journey 
ends,” observed ,the colonel, looking after him. 
“ Horses have a way of going to pieces in the hills, 
and they seem to have few extra ones.” 

We had ourselves determined to make the jour- 
ney on foot, since it would be a ceaseless annoy- 
ance to keep the horses back to the pace of the 
slow-going wagons, which, it was evident, could 
not make over ten or twelve miles a day, even 
under the most favorable conditions. Our guns 
and baggage were safely aboard one of them, so 
that we need carry nothing save knife and pistol. 

The last of the wagons passed us, and M. de 
Malartie, who was with it, stopped to exchange a 
word. 

“ If you could only go with us, sir ! ” he said. 

“ Faith, and I ’d like to ! ” cried the colonel with 
bright eyes. “ The fever is in my veins yet, sir ; 
but, of course, that ’s nonsense. Old dogs must 
hug the fire. So good-by and bon voyage. Say 
good-by, boys ; ’t is time for you to go.” 

We pressed his hand and father’s, and I dare 
say there were tears in the eyes of both of them as 
they watched us trudge away down the road. Cer- 
tainly there were tears in mine so that I could 
scarcely see them when I looked back for the last 
time as the road turned among the trees. 


CHAPTER XVI 


ANOTHER PARTING 

• AVe soon caught up with the wagons, and found 
that most of the men were walking like ourselves, 
for the hot sun beating down upon the wagon-tops 
made the atmosphere within unendurable. They 
were all cheerful enough, and trudged along talk- 
ing and laughing, bursting now and then into the 
chorus of a song, and saluting with loud mirth 
every traveler they met upon the way. No doubt 
many strange companies had journeyed over this 
road into the wilderness, but surely none stranger 
than this. 

We covered about ten miles that day and camped 
in a very pleasant valley, watered by a branch of 
the Shenandoah. Fires were soon alight, and 
while the more important of the colonists had 
tents pitched for them, the most were contented to 
sit under heaven’s canopy with the bright stars to 
light them. We — Frederic, Malartie, and I — 
were bidden to M. le Comte’s tent, a large markee, 
furnished with surprising luxury and complete- 
ness, where we sat down to a meal which would 
have done no discredit to our cuisine at Riverview, 
and presently from without there came the sound 
of music. 


ANOTHER PARTING 149 

“ Our orchestra,” explained our host, in answer 
to our questioning glance, “ and a very good one — 
some of the best musicians in Paris have cast in 
their lot with us.” 

I reflected that they would doubtless regret it 
soon enough, but held my peace. M. le Comte 
ordered the flaps of the tent to be lifted, and just 
outside, in the light of a campfire, we saw the 
musicians sitting. The men and women of the 
party gathered about them by twos and threes, but 
they could not stay long silent. One of them bent 
for a word into the leader’s ear ; he nodded, and 
in a moment they were off : — 

“ A cheval, ^ cheval pour aller ma mie, 

Lon, Ion, la. 

Ma belle n’y etait paa ; la voila qui arrive, 

Lon, Ion, la, 

Landerira, landerirette, landerirra, 

Lon, Ion, la.” 

How the refrain echoed under the trees I There 
was a little silence when the song had ended, and 
finally a tall young fellow was urged forward. The 
orchestra swept into a quaint little prelude, and 
then came the song : — 

“ A la claire fontaine, 

Levant le palais du roi,” 

— perhaps you know it — sung in a baritone of 
singular sweetness. They would not be satisfied 
with one song, and he gave a second and a third. 
Then the musicians shut up their instruments, but 
half an hour later a dozen fiddles were playing in 
the camp. 

So the evening passed, and so passed many an- 


150 


THE HERITAGE 


other. Frederic and I were the guests sometimes 
of our good doctor, sometimes of Malartie, once or 
twice of Captain Isaac Guion, to whom the task 
had been intrusted of getting us aU safely over the 
mountains; occasionally we played the host our- 
selves. We came to know many others of the 
colonists, rich and poor, leaders and rank and file, 
and we found them all worth liking. One thing 
only vexed me, — day after day passed, and I 
caught but the most fleeting glimpses of Suzanne. 
Did I stop to pass the evening with her father, she 
had some business which called her to another 
part of the camp ; did I offer to accompany her, 
she simulated horror and declared it would be 
most indiscreet ; did I meet her by chance, she im- 
mediately had an errand with a friend near by — 
all of which, I need hardly say, irked me greatly. 

Hardship was soon upon us, for as we toiled 
farther into the mountains the food grew scarce 
and very bad. Salt beef, day after day, palls 
upon the roughest appetite; how, then, must it 
have been with these dainty ones, fostered amid 
the luxuries of Parisian kitchens ? Yet it must be 
said in justice that even this privation could not 
wholly damp their spirits ; though men grew gaunt 
and women pale, they could still jest and sing and 
love ! 

One day was much like another. We passed 
Winchester, beyond which the road grew so rough 
and steep that squads of men were told off to 
help the wagons, and even then we were ten days 
in getting forward the thirty miles to Crock’s tav- 


ANOTHER PARTING 


151 


ern. Twenty miles farther was Frankford town, 
and in two days more we had covered the twelve 
miles to Clark’s store, perched high up in the hills. 
From there we descended into the Little Shades of 
Death, a valley of very pretty oak land, followed 
by a tract of the tallest pines I ever saw. A fine 
plantation, known as Tumblestone’s, lay just be- 
yond, containing, I should think, at least five thou- 
sand acres of beautiful meadow land. A fortnight 
later, we came to the passage of the Yoh, which 
was a fairly good ford ; but the road beyond was 
wet and swampy, and we got ahead with great 
difficulty. It was here that Colonel Stewart’s pre- 
diction came true, and M. le Comte, last of the 
score and more who had started horseback, gave 
up his mount to the transport, which could have 
used a dozen more, so spent were all the horses 
with the heavy roads and lack of good forage. 
Next, day we crossed a little brook, near which, it 
is said. General Braddock lies buried, and at last 
we came to the great ridge called Laurel Hill. 
The road was very steep, and the horses had to be 
doubled on the wagons to get them over, a long 
and weary task, while more than one got beyond 
control and dashed to pieces on the steep descent. 

We three had gathered in a little group near 
the mountain-crest, to take breath from the toil 
of getting our wagon up, when Captain Guion 
passed us, weighted with the cares of his position. 
But he still had time to give us a nod and word 
of greeting. 

“ You can get a fine view of the westward coun- 


152 


THE HERITAGE 


try from that rock yonder,” he said, pointing to a 
crag which jutted from the hillside. “ It will be 
some hours before we can get the other wagons 
over, so you will have ample time to clamber up 
to it.” 

“ Let us go,” said Malartie. “ I am anxious to 
see this new El Dorado.” 

We fought our way upward after him, through 
the thick underbrush of berry vines and creepers, 
until at last we came to the great ledge of rock 
which towered over the valley. How my heart 
leaped as I looked down upon that smiling scene ! 
A dozen broad plantations lay beneath us ; six or 
seven miles away appeared the little cluster of 
houses that made the town of Beason ; Redstone, 
the merest ribbon of silver, now reflecting the 
sun’s rays in a thousand rippling mirrors, now 
diving out of sight beneath the trees, ran west- 
ward from us, pointing the way to the Mecca at 
its mouth, where our weary land-journey was to 
end. 

“A beautiful country,” said Frederic at last, 
with a little sigh. “ A beautiful country. And 
the Ohio country is even more beautiful, ’t is said. 
We shall have small trouble in making a home 
there, Stewart.” 

“ I trust so,” I answered, yet home is where the 
heart is, and mine, whatever I might wish regard- 
ing it, was certainly not westward in the wilder- 
ness. 

“Four thousand acres will make a pretty es- 
tate,” he added, “ and then, perhaps, the black-eyed 


1 


ANOTHER PARTING 153 

daughters of some mighty chieftain will leave their 
father’s wigwam for us and so make us heirs 
to a vast domain. I am dreaming rosy dreams, 
Stewart,” and he looked at me with a little mock- 
ing smile. 

“ I should not call them such,” I retorted some- 
what testily, as Malartie burst into a shout of 
laughter, for though I knew fuU well he spoke in 
jest, it seemed to me too bitter, — especially the 
reference to black eyes. 

He did not answer me, but the curve of his lips 
deepened as he glanced at me again. Below us, 
around a sharp bend in the road, the last of the 
wagons creaked into view. 

“ Come, we must go down,” said Malartie. 
“We have idled long enough. There is work for 
us.” 

I paused for another long look across the valley, 
and then followed him downward through the 
trees. 

The country from the ridge to Redstone Old 
Fort was very broken, though few of the hills 
were so steep but they could be made without 
doubling. So at last we pulled into the squalid 
little settlement, looking down from its high ledge 
upon the Monongahela. We had been near three 
months upon the road, and had left a dozen graves 
to mark it. 

Here there was another long delay, for the flat- 
boats which were being built to carry us down the 
river were not yet completed. Two weeks dragged 


154 


THE HERITAGE 


past, — as weary ones as I have ever spent, — and 
finally the last pin was driven, the last box got 
aboard. M. le Comte had insisted that this last 
stage of the journey be made in his boat, and we 
found Malartie there, as well as Dr. Saugrain and 
his family. The good doctor was quite jubilant, 
for his precious instruments had come safely 
through the trying journey. Only once had the 
wagon broken in which his boxes were, and he had 
assured himself that not a tube was fractured, not 
a bottle cracked. 

“ Now we have only to drift down this placid 
stream,” he said. “ Seven days, or eight, per- 
haps, and we shall land. Then will come that 
great and noble work of building up a home in 
the forest, where it will be my privilege to observe 
the children of the wilderness, innocent, gentle ” — 
“ Innocent ! ” cried Frederic. “ Gentle ! ” 
“Certainly,” said the doctor, looking at him 
over his spectacles. “ Or with such vices only as 
they have learned from the white man.” 

“ Do not trust too much .to their innocence, sir,” 
said Frederic. “ They are said to be very treach- 
erous and cruel.” 

“ I cannot believe it,” protested the little French- 
man. “ I have no wish to injure them, so why 
should they injure me ? ” 

It was small use to dispute with him, for he 
spoke from the heights of a philosophy that de- 
fied experience. Could he have foreseen the future, 
he might not have watched so placidly those final 
preparations for departure. At last the word was 


ANOTHER PARTING 155 

spoken, and we drifted out into the current of the 
stream. 

Frederic and Mademoiselle de Barth were lean- 
ing together against the rail, deep in talk, and I 
made my way among the bundles and boxes to 
the bow. There — wonder of wonders ! — I fouiid 
Suzanne. She looked around with a little start 
when she heard my step behind her. 

“ So it is you ! ” she said. 

“ Yes, I. And I am glad to have found you. 
You seem to have quite forgot that I am with this 
expedition.” 

She looked away from me with a little. grimace, 
but I could yet see the curve of her cheek, the 
fullness of her firm white throat, and found them 
worth contemplating. 

“ You have avoided me,” I continued grimly. 
“ I have not seen you a dozen times since we left 
Alexandria — I have been alone with you not 
once.” 

She looked up at me, smiling. 

“ Well, monsieur ? ” 

“ It is not well. It is not using me kindly.” 

“ No ; only justly.” 

It was a good retort and I winced under it. 

“ But women should show mercy,” I protested. 

“ A woman’s first law is self-protection.” 

She was looking away at the bank again, and I 
could not see her face. 

“Will you explain, mademoiselle?” I asked 
after a moment, scenting danger ahead, but power- 
less to resist its fascination. 


156 


THE HERITAGE 


She turned back to me again, and this time her 
face was very grave. 

“ Monsieur Kandolph,” she began, “ I cannot 
forget that tone you adopted with me the day 
I was your guest — but for your youth, I could 
not have pardoned you. I have forgiven, but, I 
repeat, I cannot forget. There — do not be an- 
gry — you are still very young, monsieur — not 
younger in years than I, perhaps ; but a girl, and 
especially one of Paris, is older than her years. 
I know you have a good heart, but it is not yet a 
true heart, which I am sure it will one day be- 
come. Besides, my friend, in a day or two we 
part — you will go your way and I mine. I shall 
always remember you — I shall always remember 
your kindness and I shall, in time, forget — other 
things.” 

The minutes passed, and I could find no word 
of answer. Even then, I could not wholly deny 
the justice of her words — I know now, looking 
back, how truly she had read me. 

At last she looked up at me out of the corner 
of her eye, and was conscience-stricken, perhaps, 
at my evident distress. 

“ I regret only one thing,” she said softly, “ that 
I shall not know you when you become a man. 
Now I must say good-by.” 

She held out her hand, and I, in all humility, 
raised it to my lips. She let it lie in mine a 
moment, then turned away and went slowly back 
to her father. I had no heart to follow — I 
wished only to be alone with my thoughts — and 


ANOTHER PARTING 


157 


sorry ones they were. The bottoms slipped back- 
ward past us and gave place to higher land, but 
it was not till Frederic touched me on the arm 
that I noticed it. 

“ Why, boy,” he said, “ I thought you must 
have fallen overboard. You have been in this 
corner an hour — two hours — how long ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” I answered. “ Long enough, 
at least, to have grown some years older.” 

He looked at me for a moment without speaking. 

“ Well,” he said at last, “ ’t is time to sup. And 
I am very hungry.” 

I went back with him and ate, and after the 
meal we sat down together to watch the river. 
Our course was almost due westward, with the 
river some two hundred yards in width. On and 
on we went ; evening fell, and still we sat watch- 
ing the reflection of the stars upon the water, and 
listening for the faint ripple which told that an 
island was ahead. There seemed a great many of 
them, but the men at the sweeps knew the river 
thoroughly and it had been decided that we should 
run all night. 

Morning found us thirty miles farther on our 
way, and we had just risen, when we floated out 
into what seemed a great lake. 

“ ’T is the forks ! ” cried Frederic. “ See, there 
is the fort.” 

There on the point between the forks it was, 
standing high above the river, and we stood watch- 
ing it until we swept out into the broad Ohio and 
left it far behind. The river grew ever more beauti- 


158 


THE HERITAGE 


ful, hurrying along between two high and undulat- 
ing ridges, opening before noon into broad bottoms. 
So the day passed and evening came again, with- 
out Suzanne appearing for an instant. I made 
bold to ask her father where she was, and he an- 
swered that she had a slight fever and was lying 
down. He added that he feared the fever would 
be very bad in the bottoms along the river, espe- 
cially when they were turned up with the plough, 
and trusted that the French town had been laid 
out on a plateau high above it. I was in no mood 
to talk and soon sought my blankets. The third 
day passed as the second had — and the fourth 
and fifth — only when I asked after Suzanne 
early each morning and again at night, I was told 
she was no better — slightly worse, if anything. 
Still, her father said, there was no danger ; the 
fever was slight, but very weakening, and would 
take some days to break. 

The sixth morning dawned clear and fair, and 
breakfast was scarcely over when word was brought 
us that the mouth of the Muskingum was close at 
hand. Just ahead there lay two islands in the 
river, with the three channels in plain view ; then 
a single long one, which the captain said was 
called Duvall’s. We kept to the north of it and 
very near the shore. 

“ There ’s the fort ! ” cried the captain, as we 
swung out again into mid-channel, and far ahead 
we could see the walls of a blockhouse on the point 
of land where the Muskingum flowed into the 
Ohio. Nearer, but not so distinct because farther 


ANOTHER PARTING 


159 


from the bank, we could discern a second stockade 
and a few scattered houses. 

“ That is Marietta,” said the captain, “ named 
after the French queen, you know,” and he ran 
up a flag to the top of a pole at the bow to show 
that he had passengers to be taken off. Almost 
at once, a small boat, rowed by two men, put out 
from shore. 

“ Any baggage besides these two boxes ? ” asked 
the captain. 

“ That is all, sir,” said Frederic. 

“ All right ; they ’ll be alongside in five minutes. 
Mind you ’re ready, for they don’t like rowing back 
against the stream.” 

Our good-bys were soon said — M. le Comte, the 
brave Malartie, the good doctor and his wife, — 
Mademoiselle Elise — all the kind people whom we 
had come to know so well — all but one. 

“ May we not say adieu to your daughter, sir ? ” 
I asked the doctor, but he shook his head. 

“ She would not know you,” he said. “ She does 
not know even me.” 

I turned away to watch the boat, not daring to 
question him further. It was alongside in a mo- 
ment, and our boxes were lifted into her. A last 
hand-clasp, and we, too, were over the rail. 

“ Cast off ! ” cried the captain ; our men backed 
on their oars, and the great boat surged ahead. 

We stood up and waved to them, the dear peo- 
ple, and they waved back and shouted last tender 
words. Then, suddenly, there was a little commo- 
tion among them, and I saw Suzanne press forward 


160 


THE HERITAGE 


to the rail. Far over the side she leaned and 
kissed her hands to us — to me ! 

“ It is she ! ” I cried. “ I must go back ! Ke- 
lease me, Frederic ! ” 

“ Steady, boy ! ” he said, and held me tight. 
“You cannot go back. It is too late.” 

Too late! The boat swept on, the figures at 
the rail blurred and faded. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE PEACE PIPE GOES OUT 

We had our boxes taken to the inn at the 
point, a two-storied frame building kept by a man 
named Levi Munsel, and betook ourselves after 
them to give some needed attention to our toilets 
before presenting ourselves before the governor. 
But we were destined to be disappointed at the 
outset, for after much questioning as to our busi- 
ness and destination, Munsel informed us that 
General St. Clair was at Fort Washington, four or 
five hundred miles down the river, overseeing the 
preparations for an advance against the Miami 
Indians. 

“ Against the Indians,” I repeated in surprise. 
“But I thought we had a treaty with the 
Indians ! ” 

“ So we have,” said Munsel, with a burr to his 
voice that brought back to me a very unpleasant 
memory. “ We’ve got a dozen of ’em, I reckon. 
But th’ Injuns don’t keer nothin’ fer that, s’ long 
’s th’ British ’ll give ’em a gun an’ powder an’ 
ball — yes, an’ a bounty fer scalps. You can’t 
trust no Injun, sir, till you git a bullet through 
him — an’ he ’ll fool you then, sometimes ; it ’s 
jest his natur’.” 


162 THE HERITAGE 

“ But when will General St. Clair be back ? ” 
we asked. 

“ Th’ Lord knows,” said Munsel, with calm phi- 
losophy. “ Not fer a month, anyway. This is th’ 
sixteenth of October — say th’ last o’ November. 
I kin make y’ comf’table till then, gentlemen.” 

But such a delay was far from falling in with 
our plans, and we held a hasty consultation. 

“ Who represents the governor here during his 
absence ? ” I asked at last. 

“ Why, his son, Arthur, I reckon,” said Mun- 
sel reluctantly. 

“ And where can we find him ? ” 

“Up at Campus Martius, most likely.” 

“ Where? ” I queried, surprised at this warlike 
name. 

“At Campus Martius — you must ’a’ seen it 
when you landed — that stockade about half a 
mile up th’ neck. Th’ governor’s fam% lives in 
th’ southwest blockhouse.” 

We concluded that our wisest course would be 
to hunt up the governor’s son without delay, so 
we started out for the fortification with the re- 
sounding name. We had first to cross a wide 
and very substantial bridge over a creek called 
the Tiber, — one looked about instinctively for the 
seven hiUs, — and were soon quite close to the 
stockade. It was an imposing structure, built 
upon the margin of a high plateau, some four hun- 
dred feet distant from the Muskingum, and was in 
the shape of a square of about two hundred feet 
to a side, with a blockhouse at each corner. The 


( 


THE PEACE PIPE GOES OUT 


163 


blockhouses were two-storied, with the upper story 
projecting, and between them the curtains con- 
sisted of rows of dwellings, also two-storied, and 
with high roofs, the whole forming a very strong 
and impressive fortress. Small cannon frowned 
from the bastions at the corners, and it was diffi- 
cult to see how it could ever be in danger from 
the savages. 

There was a strong gate in the lower story of 
the central house, and through this we passed to 
the interior court, which presented a busy scene. 
A well was digging in the centre, and a score of 
men were putting the finishing touches to the 
dwellings along the walls. Great piles of four- 
inch planks lay about, proving that the fortress 
had been built of no flimsy stuff. 

We asked the first man we met the way to the 
governor’s dwelling, and he directed us to the 
blockhouse in the farther corner. As we ap- 
proached it, a slender girl of about fifteen, who 
had been sitting before the door, rose to receive us. 

“We are looking for General St. Clair’s son,” 
began Frederic. “ Can you tell us where he is? ” 

“ Arthur went over to Fort Harmar this morn- 
ing, sir,” she answered. “We are expecting him 
back at any moment. You would best sit down 
and wait for him.” 

“ Thank you. We come from Virginia, where 
we once had the pleasure of meeting General St. 
Clair. Am I right in thinking you his daughter ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” and she smiled up at him, looking, 
I thought, very frail and delicate. “Jane is my 


164 


THE HERITAGE 


name ; and there is Louisa,” she added suddenly, 
looking past us. 

We turned to see as pretty a specimen of horse- 
manship as one would care to look upon. A girl, 
splendidly mounted, had just dashed through the 
gateway at a speed that challenged disaster, but 
she guided her horse adroitly hither and thither, 
leaped him over a pile of boards, and finally 
whirled to a stop before us. Frederic sprang to 
help her from the saddle, but she was down before 
he could reach her side. 

“ Good boy,” she said, taking her horse’s satin 
muzzle in her hands, to hold it an instant against 
her cheek. “ Good boy — now off with you.” 

She released him, and, with a little whinny, he 
turned and trotted slowly out through the gateway 
to his stable. 

“ Louisa,” began her sister, her cheeks glowing 
with admiration of the other’s daring, “ these are 
two gentlemen from Virginia who have come to see 
Arthur.” 

She looked us over with a single glance of her 
bright eyes, but I found her worthy a much more 
extended scrutiny. She seemed the very incar- 
nation of life and health and spirits — glowing, 
warm, buoyant — as she stood there erect, tapping 
her skirt with her riding whip. 

“ A Diana ! ” thought I. “ Here is a Diana to 
put Elise to shame ! ” 

“ Your sister has assured us that he will soon 
return,” said Frederic, “ and has suggested that 
we await him here.” 


THE PEACE PIPE GOES OUT 


165 


“ Quite right,” assented Diana. “ You will ex- 
cuse me, gentlemen,” she added, and swept into 
the house. 

There was a little silence after she had gone. 
My eyes were still filled with the vision, and so, I 
dare say, were Frederic’s. 

“ Louisa is always coming in that way,” ven- 
tured little Jane at last, striving to excuse her 
idol, yet daring us to do anything but worship. 

“ And a very beautiful way it is,” said I, from a 
full heart. 

“ Do you think so ? ” she asked eagerly. “ Oh, 
so do I ! She loves the life of the woods so much ; 
she is always riding through them, going for miles, 
sometimes.” 

“ And you with her, perhaps,” smiled Frederic. 

“ I ? Oh, no. I would never dare. You see, 
I am a stay-at-home. But here is Arthur.” 

He was a young man, just turned twenty, not so 
tall as his father, but with all his grace of manner. 
Frederic gave him Colonel Stewart’s letter, and he 
ran his eyes rapidly over it. 

“ I am glad indeed to see you, gentlemen,” he 
said, when he had finished, shaking hands with us 
a second time. “ I have heard my father speak 
often of Colonel Stewart, and I know he will 
deeply regret not being here to welcome you. But 
you must stay with us to dinner; afterward we 
can talk over your affairs.” 

We were presented in form to little Jane and 
Diana, who unbent somewhat when this had been 
accomplished, and even deigned to use her fine 


166 


THE HERITAGE 


eyes occasionally upon Frederic. We sat down 
with them to table, where we told them something 
of ourselves, of our trip over the mountains, and 
of our friends, the French. 

I fear they will soon find themselves in great 
need of help and counsel,” I added. 

“ I am sure my father will do everything in his 
power for them,” said our host. “ General Put- 
nam, on behalf of the Scioto Company, has been 
busy for some months preparing their houses op- 
posite the Kanawha, so in that, at least, they will 
not be disappointed. He himself is in the east, 
but J ohn Matthews, his agent, is on the ground to 
receive them. Now about your mission west.” 

We had two claims, we explained, to place 
somewhere along the Scioto. 

“ There is no hope of doing that at once,” he 
said. “ General Harmar is, at the present mo- 
ment, leading an expedition against the Miami 
towns, which, if successful, may open these lands 
to you. You would best wait here until the expe- 
dition ends. Then it will be easier to make plans.” 

“ But in the meantime,” I began. 

“ In the meantime, you will be my guests,” said 
St. Clair quickly. “ I have already sent to Mun- 
sel for your luggage.” 

“ But, my dear sir,” protested Frederic, “ we 
cannot think of imposing upon you so, or of spend- 
ing so long a time in idleness, where there is so 
much to do. You must give us work.” 

“Nothing easier,” laughed our host. “Work 
you shall, and be my guests you shall. Father 


THE PEACE PIPE GOES OUT 


167 


would never pardon me if I permitted you to go 
elsewhere.” 

There was no gainsaying him, but we deter- 
mined, at least, to be no burden upon the little 
colony, and that very afternoon joined a gang of 
men who had started a trench for a palisade about 
the fort. Luckily, such work required no previous 
training, so that we could labor to as good purpose 
as any man. That evening, a number of the lead- 
ing men of the colony called to see us, among them 
Mr. Winthrop Sargent, who brought his bride 
with him, — theirs had been the first wedding in 
the Northwest Territory, — and in the month that 
followed, we grew to know them all very well. 
And if we found them not quite so lovable as the 
French, they were none the less a fearless, deter- 
mined, self-reliant people. 

We came to know Miss St. Clair better, too, 
and found that she appealed more to the head than 
to the heart. Her superb horsemanship was not 
her only attainment, for she was perfect mistress 
of the rifle, using it with an accuracy quite aston- 
ishing. Nor was she less versed in those things 
which are usually a woman’s accomplishments, for 
she had been carefully educated at Philadelphia. 
But with it all, there was something lacking, — 
some charm of womanliness, — and I was never 
much astonished that in the end her fate should 
be so commonplace and sordid. 

We were working away one day, when who 
should appear but M. le Comte de Barth and M. 
le Marquis Marnesia, together with some half 
dozen others of the French. 


168 


THE HERITAGE 


“ You will come with us, will you not, mes- 
sieurs?” cried M. le Comte. “We desire that 
you should witness our protest against the perfidy 
of this Scioto Company.” 

“We will go with you, certainly,” answered 
Frederic, and together we sought out Arthur St. 
Clair. 

“We have come to demand audience of the 
General Putnam,” began M. le Comte, who was 
plainly laboring under great excitement. 

“ He is not here at present, sir,” said Arthur. 

“We have been cheated in the location of our 
lands,” went on the Frenchman, his anger increas- 
ing from moment to moment. “ The lands bought 
by Marnesia and me were to be located at the 
mouth of the Scioto. Besides, how could you sup- 
pose that men of our rank would consent to live in 
a little, squalid cabin of logs ? ” 

“ My dear sir,” interrupted Arthur, flushing at 
the other’s vehemence, “ I suppose nothing what- 
ever about it, because I know nothing about it. I 
am not connected with the Scioto Company in any 
way, nor is my father. You must await General 
Putnam’s return. If you wish, I can assign you to 
quarters at Fort Harmar, where, I dare say. Cap- 
tain Fraser will be glad to make room for you.” 

To this the Frenchmen agreed, and Mademoi- 
selle Elise, somewhat disgusted with her experi- 
ence of America, promptly joined her father there, 
and became the belle of the post, as Miss St. Clair 
was of the settlement. The fort was almost empty, 
as all the troops, except a small garrison, were 


THE PEACE PIPE GOES OUT 


169 


with General Harmar, so the Frenchmen had for 
themselves and their people all the room they 
could possibly need. Frederic and I visited them 
twice or thrice, but M. le Comte’s temper had 
changed sadly for the worse, and he could talk of 
nothing save his ill-usage. His daughter stood the 
test much better, but even she had her bad mo- 
ments. I had thought that she and Diana would 
be great friends, but some secret cause of dislike 
sprang up between them and they got along to- 
gether but indifferently well. 

General Putnam returned from the east early in 
November, and at once set to work to right the 
injustice done the French, so far as lay within his 
power. He started out a surveying party to the 
mouth of the Scioto to locate the desired land, but 
before they could commence the work, the Indians 
were in arms again, and the party was driven back 
to the fort. There seemed no early promise of 
peace ; Marnesia returned to France, and M. le 
Comte and his daughter crossed the mountains 
again to Philadelphia, to lay their complaints be- 
fore the Congress. 

General St. Clair came back some three weeks 
later and seconded the welcome his son had given 
us. I found him greatly changed, for his hair was 
quite white and his face seamed and careworn. 
It was from him we learned of the virtual failure 
of General Harmar’s expedition, for while it had 
succeeded in destroying five or six Indian towns 
and had killed some two hundred of the savages, 
it had itself suffered almost as severely, through 


170 


THE HERITAGE 


the cowardly behavior of the militia, who had run 
away at every meeting with the Indians and left 
the regulars to be cut to pieces. 

“ I am asked to accomplish miracles,” he said 
wearily, one evening. “ The government insists 
that I secure from the Indians all the land from 
here west to the Mississippi, but there is only one 
way to get it, and that is by force. It will take a 
great army, and this the government will not give 
me. I asked that a fort be built by Harmar on 
the Miami, that we might hold what he had 
gained; but General Knox replied that such a 
project entailed too great expense. Well, it will 
entail a greater one ere we win through to that 
place a second time.” 

For the savages had broken loose again, boasting 
that before the budding of the trees they would 
quench in blood the fire in every cabin north of 
the Ohio ; and for a time it seemed they would 
make 'good the boast. On the second day of the 
new year, they burst down upon the Ohio Com- 
pany’s blockhouse at Big Bottom, but thirty miles 
above the fort, and wiped out the settlement there 
utterly. Measures were instantly taken for the 
protection of the colony, and General St. Clair hav- 
ing started for Philadelphia to urge the needs of 
the west upon the Congress, General Putnam took 
charge of the defense. The outer settlements were 
at once abandoned, new blockhouses were ordered 
built, and a force of the militia under Colonel 
Sproat was detailed to garrison them ; six back- 
woodsmen were employed as scouts, to watch for 


THE PEACE PIPE GOES OUT 


171 


the approach of the enemy and so prevent sur- 
prise; outer protections of palisades and abattis 
were ordered for Campus Martins, and a system of 
defense arranged in case the savages should appear. 

Meanwhile, up and down ^the river, they were 
reaping rich harvest of scalps and booty. Boats 
were decoyed ashore and their occupants mur- 
dered ; stragglers from the settlements were cut 
off; traders tortured and their goods portioned 
among the captors ; one of our own scouts, Cap- 
tain Rogers, who had made a great name in In- 
dian warfare, was ambushed and killed within a 
mile of the fort ; everywhere the savages glutted 
themselves with murder. The garrison at Campus 
Martins, which Frederic and I had joined at once, 
was kept under strict discipline. The men were 
divided into squads, and at night four of these 
squads occupied the bastions, while the watchword 
was cried half-hourly. Magazines were estab- 
lished, bullets cast, the roofs coated with clay so 
that they could not be fired with blazing arrows. 
In a word, everything was done that could add in 
any way to our safety. 

I pass hastily over those months of panic, or 
memory would make me garrulous. And so I 
come to that evening in late March, when a keel- 
boat from Fort Pitt tied up at the wharf opposite 
the fort and General St. Clair landed from it, fresh 
from his trip across the mountains. We were 
there to greet him, and he motioned us to follow him 
to the northwest blockhouse, to the haU used for 
divine service and all public meetings. The news 


172 


THE HERITAGE 


that he had come spread quickly through the fort, 
and the room was crowded when we entered it. 
He took his stand before us and drew a paper 
from his pocket. 

“ My friends,” he began, “ I bring good news. 
The Congress has determined to smite the savages 
once for all. The regular force will be increased 
to three thousand men ; and militia will be also 
raised to garrison the posts, so that three thousand 
effectives may take the field against the Indians 
this coming summer. The president has honored 
me with the appointment of commander-in-chief, 
and with God’s help, I intend to rid our frontier 
forever of the savages.” 

What a cheer went up ! — my eyes grew wet as 
I looked at him standing there so gallant and con- 
fident, despite his gray hair and the weight of 
years. The news spread from house to house, un- 
til the whole garrison had gathered in the court to 
join in the rejoicing. Three thousand seasoned 
men, a quick and decisive campaign — what doubt 
could there be of the issue ? 

“I am going with the general, Stewart,” said 
Frederic quietly, but with gleaming eyes, when 
we had sought our room. “ I shall offer him my 
services to-morrow. I cannot stay idle while there 
is this work to do.” 

“ Nor I,” I said, and fell asleep to dream of 
march and ambuscade, of attack and shock of 
battle, — and of victory, always of victory ! 


CHAPTER XVin 


DISILLUSION 

The general received our offer with a discon- 
certing lack of warmth. 

“ I should be glad to have you, boys,” he said, 
“ but I am placed in an embarrassing position. 
My friend Stewart has confided you to my care, 
and what will he think of me if I take you into a 
hazardous campaign against the Indians ? ” 

Frederic’s face grew red. 

“We are not children, sir ! ” he protested. 

“ Besides,” I added, “ with such a force as we 
shall muster there can be no great hazard.” 

The general’s eyes were twinkling as he looked 
at us. 

“ There is always hazard in an Indian cam- 
paign,” he said. “ But let us compromise. ’T will 
be four months before we take the field. You 
shall serve on my staff until then, and meanwhile 
secure permission to make the campaign ; ” so for 
want of better terms we were forced to accede to 
these. 

The general spent some days setting in order 
the business of the territory ; then we accompanied 
him back to Fort Pitt, — a dreary, wearisome trip 
it was, — and thence dispatched an urgent letter 


174 


THE HERITAGE 


to Colonel Stewart, setting the case before him 
plainly and begging his intercession in our behalf. 
We pointed out to him how we could not hope to 
place our claims while the Scioto country was in 
possession of the Indians ; that there could be no 
great danger in accompanying so large an expedi- 
tion ; and that in this way we should be employed 
and at no expense while remaining in the west. 

“ I am sure he will consent,’’ said Frederic, when 
we had given this epistle to the general, to be sent 
forward with a packet of his own ; and I heartily 
echoed the sentiment, which was really more of a 
hope than an opinion. 

There was work enough to be done, as we soon 
found, and the general, himself toiling from dawn 
till far into the night, permitted none about him 
to be idle. A message was sent to the Cornplanter 
asking the aid of his people ; arrangements were 
made for transporting the troops down the river to 
Fort Washington when they should arrive; steps 
were taken to establish a commissariat — in a 
word, the thousand and one details which must be 
perfected before a great force may dare to march 
into the wilderness. The general did the work 
before him, not doubting that the government was 
likewise busy, and before the end of the month we 
started down the river to headquarters. At Mari- 
etta, Colonel Sargent came aboard, — he had been 
appointed adjutant-general of the army, and was 
also to serve on the general’s staff, — and some 
hundred miles farther down the river we sighted a 
peculiar-looking settlement, consisting of about a 


DISILLUSION 


175 


hundred cabins built together in long rows parallel 
to the stream. 

“ It is Gallipolis,” said some one, and we gazed 
with interest at this place where so many of our 
friends were living. We were almost opposite it, 
when a small boat put out from shore and rowed 
rapidly toward us. As it approached, Frederic 
sprang suddenly up with a shout of joy. 

“ ’T is Malartie ! ” he cried, and sure enough it 
was that gallant gentleman. 

“ Is General St. Clair with you ? ” he shouted. 

“Yes.” 

“Then throw my luggage aboard,” he com- 
manded his boatman, and in a moment was over 
the side, shaking us warmly by the hand, while his 
boat fell away astern. 

“ What a pleasure ! ” he was saying. “ My dear 
friends ! And how has fortune used you ? ” 

“ Why, very well. And you ? ” 

“ Pouf ! ” He shrugged his shoulders. “ I was 
growing rusty here in the woods. My sword re- 
proached me from the wall. ‘What, is it true, 
then, you can find no further use for me ? ’ And 
so I took it down, polished it point to hilt, and 
here I am. Did you not say your general was 
here ? Well, I go to him. Perhaps you will aid 
me with a word ? ” 

Would we? Radiant with joy, we led him to 
the general and presented him. Nor was that 
worthy man less pleased than ourselves. 

“ You honor me, sir,” he said warmly. “ I shall 
count it fortunate to have a man of your experi- 


176 


THE HERITAGE 


ence with me. Will you accept a position on my 
staff?’’ 

“ ’T is you who honor me, sir ! ” protested the 
Frenchman. “I shall be most happy to accept 
such a position, and trust that I may fill it to your 
satisfaction.” 

“ I foresee you will do that, sir,” responded the 
general, and so it was settled. 

We took him aside at the first moment that we 
might ask about our friends. 

“ And how is Doctor Saugrain ? ” 

“Just as he always was — the same kindly old 
fellow — astonishing every one with his experi- 
ments — not so gay, perhaps ” — 

“ Not so gay ? ” 

“ No — he has never quite recovered from his 
daughter’s death.” 

“ His daughter’s death ? — Suzanne ? 

“ Suzanne — yes. Did you not know ? She 
made a brave fight for months, hut the fever never 
left her. It has killed many others.” 

I stood staring out over the water, hearing no- 
thing of their talk, thinking only of Suzanne — 
Suzanne who had seen into my heart so clearly — 
Suzanne of the black eyes and merry laugh — and 
I lived through some bitter moments. 

“ I know not what they will do,” Malartie was 
saying. “ They have no money left — not even 
enough to take them back over the mountains, 
much less to France, where they are dying to re- 
turn, even though she is torn with revolution.” 

He told us something of their story — their first 


DISILLUSION 


177 


task had been to clear their land, and they labored 
for months at felling the huge sycamores, doing it 
so awkwardly that often they were caught and 
injured by the falling tree. The great green trunks 
could not be burned, so deep trenches were dug to 
receive them. The food ran low — so low that for a 
time a famine threatened, and families gently bred 
had lived for weeks on dry beans boiled in water, 
without grease or salt. A pond back of the settle- 
ment had proved a great breeder of disease, and 
few of the colonists escaped the fever. So matters 
went from bad to worse, and even the band of 
musicians and the semi-weekly assemblies in the 
ballroom, which the Scioto Company had thought- 
fully provided, could not keep up their spirits. 
Such as were able had worked their way back 
eastward ; others had started westward to join the 
remnants of the old French settlements there, per- 
haps to go on to St. Louis or New Orleans ; the 
remainder eked out a scanty livelihood and waited 
only for a chance to get away. It was a sad story, 
and parts of it we repeated to the general. 

“ But I can do nothing,” he said, much moved. 
“ Had there been fraud, I would have dealt with 
the offenders long since ; but there has been none, 
at least on this side the water. The company 
was victimized by a rascally agent at Paris, and 
suffered as much as did the French. I have called 
the attention of the Congress to the matter — more 
I cannot do.” 

We reached Lexington early in May, where 
General Scott was mustering a force to march at 


178 


THE HERITAGE 


once against the Wabash towns. He was instructed 
to hold his forces until one more effort could be 
made for peace, and then the general and his suite 
proceeded to Fort Washington. 

The garrison consisted of only sixty-two men fit 
for duty, and our first task was to get together 
the other portions of the regiment which were in 
garrison at the other posts. This was done, and 
by the middle of July some three hundred rank 
and file, composing the First Kegiment of United 
States troops, had been concentrated at headquar- 
ters. 

Meanwhile, the campaign started with great 
success. Overtures of peace were contemptuously 
rejected by the Indians, and General Scott ad- 
vanced at once against the Wabash towns, com- 
pletely destroying four of the most important ones, 
killing thirty warriors and taking many prisoners, 
with a loss of only one man. Such a brilliant 
success persuaded the general to authorize a second 
expedition of like nature, this time under Colonel 
Wilkinson, who rendezvoused with about five hun- 
dred volunteers at headquarters, and clanked away 
northward into the forest on the first of August. 
Three weeks later they were back again, having 
matched the success of the first foray. 

But with us at Fort Washington matters were 
bad enough. It was soon evident that the three 
thousand troops promised by the secretary of war 
would not be forthcoming. Few were willing to 
enter upon a service so hazardous, so trying, and 
so ill-paid ; and those who did enlist were the 


DISILLUSION 


179 


offscourings of prison and gutter, of slum and 
brothel, who took the musket to escape starvation. 
Such sorry - looking things they were — white- 
faced, hollow-chested, flabby-muscled — that Ma- 
lartie declared in disgust that one able-bodied 
Indian would rout the whole force. Yet he did 
yeoman service, drilling them up and down the 
camp, trying to teach them to stand erect, to 
throw back their shoulders, to look him in the eye. 
Poor fellows ! It had been many a long day since 
most of them had dared look any man in the eye, 
and the courage to do so was quite gone from 
them. 

Nor was this all. The commissariat had been in- 
trusted to a man by the name of Hodgdon, but the 
whole of August passed and he had not arrived 
at the post, nor given any sign of his existence. 
His work fell on the general, who, besides, was 
forced to do the work of a dozen other recreants. 
It was he who must see that food was provided, 
that horses were secured for transport ; who must 
superintend the repair of every musket and car- 
tridge-box ; who must watch the fixing of the 
ammunition, the making of boxes and slings for 
the balls and shells, carriages for the cannon, even 
ropes for lashings. I had respected him before, 
but as the days passed, and I saw almost every 
hour some new proof of his exhaustless energy, his 
fertility of resource, his indomitable purpose, re- 
spect gave place to something broader and deeper 
— I had almost called it worship. Yet no genius 
could make honest men out of thieves, or trained 


180 


THE HERITAGE 


soldiers out of flabby skulkers ; he could not undo 
the chicanery of the rogues who sent him damaged 
cannon-powder for his muskets, and old gunlocks 
in boxes labeled flints. He could not render 
waterproof the tents of flimsy crocus, nor remedy 
the badness of the axes, which crumpled up like 
dumplings at the first blow; he could not make 
elephantine pack-saddles fit his ponies, nor compel 
the rotten clothing given the levies to hold together 
under stress of wear and weather. Do you think 
this overdrawn? Not a word of it — indeed, it 
falls far short of the whole truth. It is no wish of 
mine to speak harshly of any man, but when I 
think of those delays and thieveries, those roguer- 
ies and thousand annoyances to which our com- 
mander was subjected, I grow hot with anger, even 
yet. 

Another evil had to be combated, for the re- 
cruits — most of them — possessed a burning 
thirst for spirits, which they would satisfy at any 
cost; and finally the general ordered the whole 
force, some two thousand in number, to Ludlow’s 
station, five miles from the fort, where we went 
into camp, and where it was possible to maintain 
some semblance of discipline. 

“ Another man would have retired in disgust,” 
declared Malartie, but the general had no thought 
of that. He summoned us to his quarters one 
night, where we found him propped up in bed, 
evidently suffering great pain, but cheerful as ever. 

“ A legacy from some self-indulgent ancestor of 
mine,” he said with a smile, nodding at his left 


DISILLUSION 


181 


arm, which was encased in a great bandage. “ I 
call it unjust that I should have to pay the penalty 
because some fellow fifty years ago was too fond 
of good living. This, I take it, is what the Bible 
means when it speaks about the sins of the 
fathers.” 

“ ’T is not the first time you have suffered for 
another’s faults, sir,” said Frederic. 

The general’s face lost something of its bright- 
ness, and I could see how it had aged. 

“No,” he said slowly, “perhaps not. Yet, 
whenever I feel particularly ill-used, I think of 
another who suffered far more than I have ever 
done, and who said never a word of complaint, but 
served his country faithfully. I need not name 
him,” he added. “ I had the honor, once, to pro- 
pose a toast to him at your father’s table.” 

He paused a moment, but perhaps it was only 
my fancy that his eyes were wet. 

“ I summoned you here to talk of other things,” 
he said, in a different tone. “ You have both been 
very useful to me, and I should like to keep you 
with me — but you remember our agreement ? ” 

My heart fell within me, for I had hoped he 
had forgotten it. 

“ We remember it, sir,” said Frederic. 

“ And you have heard nothing as yet from your 
family ? ” 

“ Nothing, sir ; but I am sure we shall hear.” 

“ If you do not,” said the general, “ I shall be 
compelled to leave you at the fort, where there will 
be work enough to do, and just as needful work as 


182 


THE HERITAGE 


any you could find with me. I wished to assure 
you how regretfully I shall do this, but I can see 
no other course.” 

“ You are quite right, sir,” said Frederic, and I 
wondered that he should take it so quietly. As 
for me, I was cold with disappointment. I know 
not what folly I might have uttered, but the gen- 
eral dismissed us while I stood there speechless, 
and Frederic seized me by the arm and marched 
me away. 

“ But it is an outrage ! ” I cried. “ You your- 
self have said that we are no longer children ! ” 

“ Nor are we,” he answered. “ But we are sol- 
diers, and will do without questioning whatever 
our general commands.” 

“ Of course,” I assented, coming somewhat to 
my senses, “ but he would take us with him — he 
himself said so — if it were not for this absurd 
idea.” 

“ And he will take us with him ; I am sure of 
it,” said Frederic with conviction. 

Yet it seemed that the prophecy was not to 
be fulfilled. General Butler and the last of the 
recruits arrived from Fort Pitt, supplies were hur- 
ried forward, and at last everything was ready for 
the advance. To be sure, in place of the three 
thousand effectives promised by General Knox, 
the force numbered only two thirds as many, and 
fully half that number were as far from being sol- 
diers as anything could be that walks upon two 
legs. But winter was at hand, and there could be 
no more delay. So the order came to march, and 


DISILLUSION 


183 


with it another order detailing Ensigns Kohlman 
and Randolph to Fort Washington, in charge of 
the transport there. 

That September morning was a bitter one to 
both of us. We watched the troops file slowly 
northward into the forest, and then turned our 
faces southward to report at our post of duty, — 
honorable enough, no doubt ; but oh ! how com- 
monplace ! 


CHAPTER XIX 


A LABOB FOR HERCULES 

We found enough to occupy us at the fort. The 
drivers were insolent and careless, the laborers 
lazy and incompetent, the supply of horses wholly 
insufficient, and I dare say that in the two weeks 
that followed, we labored to more purpose than we 
should have done on any field of battle. But it 
was so far from my ideal of war — all these wor- 
ries, quarrels, and disappointments seemed to me 
so trivial — that I found no savor in the work. 
Neither did Frederic, perhaps, yet he toiled as 
though his whole heart were in it, and one of my 
dearest possessions is a slip of paper upon which 
the general sent us a few warm words of praise. 
It was not I who deserved them, of course ; but I 
think that after I had read them, I tried to be 
more worthy and less selfish. 

Then the great day came. A barge had arrived 
from Fort Pitt with supplies and a few levies, and 
as Frederic was sorting the expresses, he came 
suddenly upon a packet which he caught up with 
a shout of joy. 

“ It has come, Stewart I ” he cried, and tore it 
open, as I hastened to him. 

There were three letters in the packet, and I 


A LABOR FOR HERCULES 


185 


need not set down their wealth of tenderness and 
love. Colonel Stewart’s gave the gist of both the 
others : he believed it the duty of every man upon 
the frontier, who had no family to leave in danger, 
to take part in this campaign, that the borders 
might be rid at once and forever of the scourge of 
Indian warfare; he repeated his previous advice 
to us — we were to run no undue risks, yet to shun 
none that duty demanded. “ In a word, dear 
boys,” he said, — it was almost as if he were talk- 
ing to us, — “ you are to be men, as I am sure you 
will be, after my own heart, and God bless and 
keep you both ! ” 

“ And now,” I asked, when we had read the 
letters, “shall we start for the army at once, 
Frederic ? ” 

“No,” he answered, smiling. “We are still 
posted here, you know, Stewart. But I will send 
this letter forward to the general. I am sure he 
wiU not disappoint us.” 

Nor did he, though the period of waiting was a 
trying one. But finally the order came, directing 
us to join his staff with the next convoy of sup- 
plies, and detailing two other subalterns to our 
places at the fort. 

It was pouring torrents on that October morn- 
ing when we started northward into the forest. 
A road twenty feet wide had been cut with infinite 
labor, but was so soft that the horses sank almost 
knee-deep at every step, and more than once were 
mired. We pushed forward resolutely, deter- 
mined to join the army in the shortest possible 


186 


THE HERITAGE 


time, knowing that the supplies we brought were 
badly needed — and fearing that an engagement 
might be fought before we reached it. By sun- 
down we made a point on the Big Miami, twenty- 
three miles forward, where the army had halted 
for a time and built a fort which the general had 
christened Hamilton. It had been built in just 
fourteen days, and as I walked around it that 
night, I began to realize what a labor for Hercules 
this campaign was — indeed, how vast an amount 
of work had been expended in this one spot. The 
ground had been cleared where the fort was to 
stand, and for some hundred yards about it ; its 
circuit was a thousand feet, through the whole 
length of which a trench three feet deep had been 
dug to set the pickets in ; two thousand trees for 
pickets had been cleared of their branches, cut 
into lengths of twenty feet, carried to the trench, 
butted, hewed so that they should fit tightly side 
by side, and set upright ; along the top was run 
the riband, and every log pinned firmly to it ; the 
trench was filled again, and the earth rammed 
tightly down ; another trench was dug outside to 
carry off the water ; bastions were constructed to 
cover the angles, loopholes cut, barracks built for 
a hundred men, and a smaller one for officers, 
guard-room, and storehouse ; gates and platforms 
were made of planks sawed out by hand. And 
this was only the beginning, for a road ninety 
miles long was to be cut through the forest and 
two other fortifications built. Small wonder I lay 
awake that night thinking of all this, — admiring 


A LABOR FOR HERCULES ^ 187 

the man who dared attempt it with the sorry tools 
afforded him ! 

At sunrise we pressed on again, fording the river 
two miles above the fort. We passed four en- 
campments in the course of the day, and finally 
came up with the militia under Colonel Oldham, 
straggling along the road some miles in the rear of 
the main body. We reached the army just as it 
was encamping, and reported at once to the gen- 
eral, whom we found very ill with a rheumatic 
asthma. He gave us a warm hand-clasp, but could 
not speak, and it was our old friend, Malartie, who 
presented us to a new member of the general’s 
family. Major Ebe nezer Denny , whom we found a 
brave anST experienced soldier. As we sat around 
our fire that night, smoking, it was plain from the 
others’ faces they were in no cheerful mood, though 
only Malartie, with Gascon frankness, spoke his 
mind. 

“ This whole force,” he declared, “ is, for the 
most part, nothing but a lot of incompetents. If 
the general were well, all this would be different ; 
but he has been bedridden for a week, and to my 
mind is growing worse instead of better. But 
for Colonel Sargent here, we should have gone to 
pieces utterly.” 

“ Nonsense, my friend,” protested Sargent. 
“ You have worked as hard as any of us, and to 
as much purpose. But we can’t make silk purses 
out of sows’ ears. Come and see.” 

We followed him out into the camp, and saw 
there a disgusting sight. The men were crouched 


188 


THE HERITAGE 


in close-packed groups about their fires, shivering 
with cold, glancing every moment fearfully over 
their shoulders at the black and threatening depths 
of the forest, talking together in whispers, starting 
at every sound. 

“Suppose the Indians should attack us now,” 
said Colonel Sargent, “what defense, think you, 
would these fellows make ? Why, they would run 
at the first yell. There are scarce three hundred 
trained soldiers in the whole force — those of the 
first regiment, under Major Hamtramck, who have 
seen some service. And yet,” he added, “ the fault 
is not wholly theirs. They are already on short 
rations, and a man with an empty stomach is only 
half a man.” 

We went back to our quarters thoughtfully 
enough. Plainly a strong hand was needed, and 
with the general ill, things were come to a desper- 
ate pass indeed. Next morning we had another 
instance of incompetence, for the men detailed to 
guard the horses had permitted them to roam 
away into the forest, and four hours were con- 
sumed in catching them ; so that noon had almost 
come before the march began. We made five 
miles that day, and so it was the next day and the 
next, when we arrived at the edge of a great wet 
prairie, which the army could not cross. A day 
was spent in finding a way around it, and when 
we had at last got past, it was decided to halt and 
erect another stockade to secure the sick and such 
surplus supplies as might be sent forward. The 
general was somewhat better, and his first act was 


A LABOR FOR HERCULES 


189 


to write a scorching letter to the rascally con- 
tractors who were threatening the army with 
starvation and the campaign with ruin. He sent 
Quartermaster - General Hodgden back to Fort 
Washington to take personal charge of the trans- 
port, instructing him minutely in what was expected 
of him — instructions, I am bound to say, which 
did but little good. 

Meanwhile, two hundred men were employed 
under Major Ferguson at the new fort, which was 
to be a square work, with curtains of thirty-five 
yards and a bastion at each corner ; but though 
the officers worked in the trenches with the men, 
it went ahead but slowly. The wet season had set 
in in earnest, and for three days and nights the 
rain descended in torrents, flooding the camp, 
soaking tents and clothing, and bringing the 
militia to the verge of mutiny. The time for 
which the levies had enlisted began to expire, 
and one morning all the troops from Virginia 
claimed their discharge and marched out of camp 
with a rejoicing they made no effort to conceal. 
The army was on half rations again and the forage 
for horses and cattle so scant that every afternoon 
half the force off duty was compelled to turn out 
and bring grass from the prairie to serve them over 
night. 

The militia, openly mutinous at last, began to 
desert by dozens. Some of them were caught upon 
the road ; others got clear away. And then, just 
at the moment when affairs were at their very 
worst and the officers in despair, there came a 


190 


THE HERITAGE 


sudden improvement in the general’s condition. 
The asthma and colic changed back to his old 
enemy, gout in the left hand and arm, which, 
though painful enough, left stomach and chest 
relieved and the racking cough quite gone. 

“ Thank God ! ” he said. “ I can be of some 
use again. But first, I must have a council. Will 
you summon my officers, gentlemen ? ” 

We hurried away upon the errand, joyful enough 
that something was to be done at last, and in ten 
minutes the council had assembled about his cot, — 
General Butler^ himself weighted down by fever. 
Colonel Sargent, Colonel Oldham, Colonel Gibson, 
Colonel Darke, Major Hamtramck, and Major 
Ferguson. We retired to the little outer room, — 
headquarters had been established in the first rude 
cabin built, — and there we found Malartie sitting. 
He made room for us beside him, with an ominous 
shake of the head towards the company assembled 
in the inner room. 

“ There was need of it,” he said in a low tone, 
staring gloomily at the floor. 

We sat silent a moment, and then the sound of 
voices came to us through the open door. 

“ I have called you together, gentlemen,” the 
general was saying, “ for a conference before we 
take up the advance.” 

“We ares going to advance, then? ’’.asked a 
voice. 

“ Certainly, my dear Oldham. 1, have no dis- 
cretion in the matter. The stockade here is al- 
most done, and my positive instructions are to 


A LABOR FOR HERCULES 


191 


push on to the Miami villages, destroy them, and 
erect a strong and permanent fortification there.” 

“ But that was the very thing you wished to do 
last year, sir, when General Harmar was on the 
ground,” cried a voice, “ and which General Knox 
refused you because of the expense.” 

It was true enough, as every one present knew, 
and we could hear the bitter laugh that ran around 
the room. 

“We wiU not criticise our superiors, gentle- 
men,” said the general quietly. “ ’T is enough 
that we are commanded to do it now.” 

“ It cannot be done without a battle, sir.” 

“ And need we fear a battle ? ” 

“ With troops from brothel and prison ; without 
food ; armed with powder that has been sunk in 
the Ohio; with the savages gathering in great 
force — we have small reason to seek it, sir.” 

“Let us have your opinion. General Butler,” 
said the commander, with a sigh of pain. 

“ Why, sir,” began Butler, “ since the govern- 
ment has failed in its engagements, I see not how 
it can hold you to yours, and expect you to ac- 
complish miracles. I should say you would be 
perfectly justified in resting content with the 
building of this fort and postponing further ad- 
vance until spring, when there will be forage for 
the horses, and by which time we can drill an 
army into shape.” 

There was a little murmur of approbation, then 
the general lay back wearily in his bed. 

“ This accursed gout weakens me,” he said. “ I 


192 


THE HERITAGE 


will think over your advice. I thank you, 
sirs.” 

They passed out silently, and presently we went 
in to receive any further commands he might have 
for us. He was lying back upon his blankets with 
face drawn and lips ashy gray, and a despair in 
his eyes that shocked me. How old and weak and 
helpless — and how I loved him ! 

“ I fear they have given me more than I can 
bear,” he said with a wan smile. “ Yet I must 
do my duty. I think that I can sleep now ; will 
you preserve me from disturbance, save in case of 
need?” 

We stationed ourselves without the door, and it 
must have been a great need, indeed, that would 
have persuaded us to waken him. All afternoon 
he slept — the sleep of utter exhaustion — and 
all evening and all through the night, while we 
took turns in standing sentinel. With the first 
gleam of morning he awoke, stronger and better 
in every way than he had been for weeks. 

“ That was kind of you, sirs,” he said, when he 
learned how we had guarded him. “ I had not 
thought to ask so much of you.” 

So much ! But that was ever his way. Yet 
he could be stern enough, if need be, as we had 
cause to know that very day, for two artillerymen, 
who were taken while deserting to the enemy, and 
one of the militia, who had murdered a comrade, 
were hanged upon the grand parade, with the whole 
army drawn up to witness it. And while we were 
thus assembled, general orders were read naming 


A LABOR FOR HERCULES 


193 


the fort Jefferson, and ordering the advance to 
begin at daybreak. 

When the morning came, the general was again 
so ill that it seemed certain he must be left behind ; 
but he would not hear of it, so we rigged up a 
rude litter and had him borne along by four men. 
Our road lay along an old Indian trail, which 
helped us somewhat, but the horses were so nearly 
done that we had covered but six miles by night- 
fall. That night the rains set in again, and as 
the rations were almost gone, we were forced to 
remain encamped, and near a week dragged away 
before we could move forward without certainty 
of starvation. 

Meanwhile, it became every day more evident 
that the Indians were gathering in great force to 
oppose us. Stragglers from camp were shot or 
tomahawked ; a party of militia came suddenly 
upon a camp of them, but permitted them to es- 
cape; our rangers reported Indian signs every- 
where about us. 

The general continued very ill, but he neverthe- 
less directed new precautions to guard against 
surprise. It was ordered that a close chain of 
sentries be posted about the entire camp and that 
every morning at daybreak all the troops be under 
arms at the first drum-tap, and continue paraded 
until dismissed. One of the sentries created dire 
confusion the very first night, for he fancied he 
saw an Indian stealing upon him and fired three 
times, and the whole force was got under arms 
before the mistake was discovered. 


194 


THE HERITAGE 


There was a little creek at our front across 
which a bridge was thrown, and a large party was 
sent forward to open a road for the army, which, 
with desertions and discharges and sickness, had 
been reduced to less than eighteen hundred men. 
At last we were ready to march again, and lum- 
bered forward seven miles. Again there was a 
delay of two days, for rations were quite gone and 
the horses so exhausted they could not proceed. 

Here the militia broke out in open mutiny. 
Near a third of them turned out and declared their 
intention to return to Fort Washington rather 
than go forward into the wilderness to starve, and 
finally marched away, swearing to stop the pack- 
train that was coming to our relief. There was 
only one thing to be done, and the first regiment, 
under Major Hamtramck, the only soldiers we 
had with us who could be trusted, was at once 
sent after them, not so much in hope of bringing 
them back as to save us our provision. 

It would have been best, perhaps, to remain en- 
camped until the regiment returned, but the sea- 
son was so far advanced the campaign could not 
continue, and the general determined to leave the 
heavier baggage and make a dash for the Miami 
villages, thirty miles away. Again a party was 
sent forward to open the road, and we toiled 
northward eight miles, through a swampy country 
where the artillery was mired a dozen times. Nine 
miles we made the day following, the third of 
November, and camped upon the bank of a little 
creek about twenty yards in width. 


A LABOR FOR HERCULES 


195 


The nature of the ground compelled us to con- 
tract the lines, for the dry land was insufficient to 
encamp the army in the usual order. The militia 
was advanced some three hundred yards across the 
creek, and the remainder of the force disposed in 
two lines, having the creek in front. The right 
wing, composed of Butler’s, Clarke’s and Patter- 
son’s battalions, formed the first line ; and the 
left wing, consisting of Bedinger’s and Gaither’s 
battalions and the second regiment, formed the 
second. They were about seventy yards apart, the 
utmost the ground would allow. The right flank 
seemed well secured by the creek, a steep bank, 
and Faulkener’s corps, while the cavalry and their 
pickets covered the left. Despite this, however, 
the general wished to throw up some slight in- 
trenchments, but we had got to camp so late and 
the men were so weary, that it was deemed im- 
practicable. 

There was frequent firing among the sentinels 
as the night advanced, and the general finally sent 
Major Denny and myself to General Butler’s tent 
with orders to request him to send out an intelli- 
gent officer and a sufficient party to reconnoitre 
thoroughly and ascertain if the enemy was near. 
Captain Slough, two subalterns, and thirty men 
were at once paraded for the purpose, and General 
Butler gave them particular verbal orders how to 
proceed. We returned to the general’s tent, but 
found him not yet satisfied. Doubtless the last 
advice of his commander-in-chief was ringing in 
his ears. 


196 


THE HERITAGE 


“ There must be further precautions against sur- 
prise,” he said, turning wearily on his cot. “ If I 
could but shake off this cursed illness ! Go to 
Colonel Oldham, who is in advance with the mili- 
tia, and order him to send out an hour before day- 
break, and as much earlier as possible, five patrols 
of twenty men, each with an officer, to discover the 
position of the savages.” 

This, too, we did, and then, confident that the 
enemy could not come upon us unaware, I sought 
my blankets, quite exhausted with the labors of 
the day. 


CHAPTER XX 


A SECOND BRADDOCK 

The tap of the drum brought me from my blan- 
kets at dawn, and I hurried forth to find the troops 
already under arms. They were dismissed in a mo- 
ment for breakfast, and I started for the general’s 
tent, when I came suddenly on Captain Slough. 

“ So there were no Indians ? ” I asked, remem- 
bering his mission of the night before. 

“ On the contrary,” he answered, “ there were 
so many that I had to return to the lines.” 

“ So many ! ” 

“Yes — they seemed to be advancing in force, 
all along our front, as though preparing for an 
attack.” 

“ Has the general been told of this ? ” I ques- 
tioned. 

“ I reported to General Butler and suggested 
that I had better report also to the commander, 
but he said that he would do it.” 

I hurried on to headquarters, weighted with anx- 
iety. If the general had not been told ! I must 
have burst into the tent abruptly, for he started to 
his elbow. 

“ What is it, sir ? ” he asked. 

I told him of Slough’s discovery. At the first 


198 


THE HERITAGE 


words he threw back his blanket, pulled himself 
upright and groped for his clothes with a shaking 
hand. 

“ I must get up,’’ he said, between his teeth. “ I 
must get up. Butler told me nothing. Come, 
help me, sir ! These boots are too much for me.” 

“ But you are ill,” I protested. “ You will kill 
yourself ! ” 

“ Nonsense ! Help me, I say I ” and we got the 
boots on after a struggle. “ Whom have we here ? ” 

It was Colonel Sargent, who came in much as I 
had done, with a very white face. 

“ I met Colonel Oldham a moment since, sir,” he 
began. “ He told me that he had not yet sent out 
the scouting parties you ordered.” 

I saw the general’s face turn gray as he stag- 
gered to his feet. 

“ Help me, gentlemen ! ” he cried. “ I smell 
disaster ! ” 

Colonel Sargent would have held him back, but 
he shook him off fiercely. 

“ I must go,” he repeated. “ Would you have 
me be a second Braddock ? ” 

The words were scarce spoken when there came 
a great burst of yells and firing from the front, and 
snatching up an old hat and cappo coat, the general 
rushed from the tent. We were just in time to 
see the militia, routed at the first fire, come tearing 
pellmell across the creek into the camp. The first 
line, which had sprung to arms, was thrown into 
confusion, but General Butler walked up and down 
it rallying the men and exhorting them to return 


A SECOND BRADDOCK 


199 


the fire of the savages, which was rapidly spread- 
ing along both flanks. The second line, which 
had formed in good order, wheeled to right and 
left to repel this flank attack, and in a moment 
Ferguson’s cannon opened. 

As I look back upon that scene, I realize how 
powerless I am to paint it. I can hear again the 
thunder of the guns, the yells of the savages, the 
cracking of the muskets, the groans of the wounded, 
the curses of the living, the screams of maddened 
horses ; I can see again the spurts of flame from 
the forest, each with death behind it, and men fall- 
ing front and rear ; I can smell the acrid smoke 
— I can live the day through again — but to make 
another do it is far beyond my skill. 

We followed the general up and down the lines, 
ready to do his bidding, marveling at his calm- 
ness. The shock of battle had shaken his illness 
from him ; he was again the cool, quick-witted 
commander, heartening the men, ordering the 
ranks ; and when the left wing gave way, as it did 
presently, he himseK led the charge that drove the 
savages back and regained the ground. I saw that 
they had picked him out, for one bullet cut away 
a lock of hair and another clipped a button from 
his coat, but he never wavered. It made one’s 
heart leap to look at him. 

His horses — he had four — did him no service. 
The first was shot through the head at the instant 
of mounting, the second as it was being saddled, 
the third before it could be brought to him, and 
the fourth was killed under Malartie, whose own 


200 


THE HERITAGE 


had died upon the march. After that, we were 
all on foot, and I wondered at his strength and 
resolution — he who, an hour before, had been 
stretched helpless upon his cot. 

For near two hours our men stood their ground, 
with greater bravery than I had reckoned on, 
firing blindly at an enemy they could not see ; 
then they began to waver. Small wonder, for the 
fire from the forest had cut down a third of them 
and not one officer in five was on his feet. Old- 
ham was dead. Hart was dead, Clarke was dead. 
Ferguson had been shot through the heart in a 
desperate attempt to keep his cannon going, and 
lay, with a dozen more, scalped about the guns : for 
the savages had crept up under cover of the smoke 
and done their ghastly work. Sargent was shot in 
the shoulder and Malartie through the arm, but 
neither would retire. General Butler fell with 
a bullet through his body and was carried to the 
centre of the camp, with the ever-growing crowd of 
wounded, and propped up with his back against a 
knapsack, whence he continued to exhort his men. 

The craven militia, which had fled at the first 
attack, were huddled about the fires, shaking as 
with ague, and twice the general formed them, and 
tried to lead them against the enemy ; but twice 
they broke and fled. At that his patience quite 
deserted him, and he snatched his pistols out and 
came back upon them, his face like a thundercloud. 

“ Now, you damned cowards,” he shouted, 
“ either you follow me, or I ’ll send you to hell ! ” 

I verily believe he would have done it, but that 


A SECOND BRADDOCK 


201 


they faltered into line and followed him in a charge 
across the brook at our front. But it availed no- 
thing, for the savages fled away like phantoms 
through the forest, only to return when the line 
had been withdrawn, lest it be cut off utterly. As 
for me, I confess that I had long since lost my 
coolness. The sight of officers and men falling 
by scores about me filled me with dull rage at our 
impotence to return blow for blow. There was 
something indescribably ghastly about it, — some- 
thing that chilled the blood, — for we seemed to 
be fighting a horde of shadows which we could not 
touch. I saw the lines break and retreat ; the can- 
non were long since silenced, spiked, and aban- 
doned ; the men crowded together to the centre of 
the camp, and every moment the fire from the 
forest grew more deadly. 

“We have lost,” groaned St. Clair at last, look- 
ing at this disordered, panic-stricken mob. “We 
must retreat while we can. Collect the wounded.” 

We placed them on such horses as we had, but 
it was evident we could not take them all, and it 
sickened me to think of the fate of those that 
must be left. Yet many proved themselves heroes 
in that moment, begging that we leave them to 
their fate and save ourselves. An old packhorse, 
that could scarce be pricked out of a walk, was got 
for the general, who was near fainting, and he 
placed himself at the head of the little force which 
was to make the last desperate charge to secure the 
road of retreat. He gave the word, a bugle note 
rose above the din, and at the signal the men lost 


202 


THE HERITAGE 


their last remnant of reason. In a frenzied mob 
they dashed toward the narrow road by which we 
had come, forgetful of discipline, of the -wounded, 
of everything save a burning desire to escape. 

“ Come, sir,” cried Major Denny to the general, 
who sat with set face watching this rout. 

“ A second Braddock ! ” he groaned. “ A sec- 
ond Braddock ! ” and I saw that his lips were 
flecked with blood. 

“ Come, sir, we must go,” cried Denny again, 
and caught the general’s horse by the bridle. 

But the general jerked it from his hand. 

“ Not till the last,” he said. “We must get a 
rearguard together, or the whole force will be cut 
down,” and we stood beside him until the rear of 
the rabble had swept past. Then, with a last look 
at the field, at the mounds of dead and wounded, 
at the savages pouring over it to finish their deadly 
work, he turned and rode slowly after. 

But the Indians, who had given way at first, 
saw the object of the movement, and a sharp fusi- 
lade began from either side, while, looking back, 
I could see the horde coming after us. The others 
saw it, and flung away guns, accoutrements, even 
clothing, that they might flee faster. Strong men 
trampled on weak, the wounded were flung aside . . . 

I saw Captain Purdy, who had been shot through 
the hip, hurled roughly headlong, and totter and 
faU into a thicket of underbrush by the roadside. 
Hot with wrath, I ran to him and stooped to pick 
him up. He looked up at me with a wan little 
smile, as I got my arms about him, and then . . . 


CHAPTER XXI 


AWAKENING 

Sqme one was slapping me savagely in the face, 
and I opened my eyes to find that it was Purdy. 
Astonishment changed to anger as he struck me 
mercilessly again. 

“ Thank God ! ” he whispered. “ ’T was only 
a spent ball — you are all right again. You must 
get out of this, Randolph. The savages have gone 
past in pursuit of the army, but they will soon be 
back.” 

I saw that I had fallen with him into the thicket 
of underbrush. 

“ You must go,” he urged. “ They may burst 
in here at any instant. Good-by and God keep 
you.” 

I wiped the blood from my face, — it was stream- 
ing from a long scalp wound, — and looked at 
him. 

“ But you ? ” I asked. 

“ You can do nothing for me,” he protested ear- 
nestly. “ My legs seem paralyzed. You simply 
throw away your life by staying here.” 

It was true enough ; and yet to go seemed such 
a coward’s part ! 

“ Good-by, my friend,” he repeated, and held 


204 


THE HERITAGE 


out his hand. “ You did what you could to save 
me. 

There was no time to hesitate, and steeling my 
heart, I rose cautiously to my knees and peered 
about me. I could hear a great clatter of firing 
down the road, but could see no Indians. I 
glanced despairingly at Purdy. 

“ Good-by,” he said again quietly. “ Stay, 
there is one thing you can do. Give me your 
knife. I have lost mine. At least, I can die 
fighting.” 

There was such a choking in my throat I could 
not speak, but I gave him the knife, wrung his 
hand, and made off through the underbrush before 
my resolution failed me. I dared not go too far 
from the road, lest I lose myself in the wilder- 
ness, so turned at last and pressed forward toward 
the firing, intending to make a wide detour and so 
join our troops. As I toiled on through the under- 
brush, other sounds began to fall upon my ears, — 
groans, shrieks, cries for mercy, — and I knew that 
the savages were cutting down the laggards in the 
rear, the wounded, and exhausted. But I had little 
time to think of them, for just as I turned again 
away from the road, three Indians burst out of the 
forest ahead. 

For a moment they did not see me, and I stood 
stock-still, praying that they would pass ; then I 
felt a pair of gleaming eyes staring into mine, and 
with a wild yell they were after me. Over stumps 
and fallen trees I went, through tangles of vines 
and creepers — stumbling, slipping, staggering for- 


AWAKENING 


205 


ward, until it seemed my very heart must burst. 
I could hear them drawing near and nearer — why 
did they not shoot ? — near and nearer, until my 
hair crawled upward on my scalp as the hatchet 
seemed to hover over it ; when — horrors ! — a 
great ditch opened suddenly before me. I gath- 
ered all my strength and sprang for the farther 
side, fell short a foot, and went downward and 
backward, clutching at the air. For an instant I 
closed my eyes, thinking the end had come, not 
daring to see the blow. Then I opened them to 
find my pursuers standing over me. They mo- 
tioned me to rise and I got weakly to my feet. 
Instantly one of them pinioned my arms behind 
me with a rawhide thong. 

You who have never looked into the face of 
death cannot know the rapture of reprieve, though 
it be only for an hour. What a wave of thankful- 
ness swept over me when I understood that they 
intended merely to take me prisoner ! For a mo- 
ment I turned sick and faint, and thought that I 
should fall, but one of them caught me and held 
me upright until the feeling passed. I had, of 
course, heard a hundred tales of the fate reserved 
for prisoners, — of the gauntlet and the stake, — 
but life was life while it lasted, and I drew in deep 
breaths of the good air as though I had been shut 
out from it for ages. One of them held a knife 
to my breast to indicate my fate should I attempt 
escape, and then led the way, while the other two 
came after, back to the road. 

There I saw a sight that haunts me now and 


206 


THE HERITAGE 


then, even yet. Up and down it lay the bodies 
of our soldiers, stripped and hacked, each with its 
head in a little pool of blood. The firing in the 
rear had almost ceased, and looking back, I saw 
that the savages had stopped from the pursuit and 
were pressing toward us, lustful for scalps and 
booty. My captors urged me to a run, and in a 
moment we were back upon the field. I was 
lashed firmly to a sapling, and one of them re- 
mained to guard me while the others hastened 
away. 

Of the horror of butchery that followed, one 
incident only need be mentioned here. In the 
terror and disorder of the fiight. General Butler 
had been left behind with the other wounded. 
His hurt was doubtless mortal, for I could see him 
writhing with agony, and as he lay there a savage 
stopped before him, and the dying man implored 
him to end his misery. 

“ Can’t do it, general,” the seeming savage an- 
swered, to my great astonishment, “ but I ’U git 
some ’n’ else t’ obleege y’.” 

He called to one of the passing warriors, said a 
few rapid words to him, and the latter, on the in- 
stant, raised his tomahawk and buried its blade in 
the head of the prostrate man. Then he bent over 
him, and with a yell of exultation tore off the 
scalp. Nor was that all, for a moment later, two 
other warriors coming up, under orders from the 
first one, ripped open the body, cut out the heart, 
and divided it into a dozen pieces, one, as I after- 
wards learned, for each of the tribes present. 


AWAKENING 


207 


The fiend who had ordered this piece of savagery- 
swung on his heel and came toward me, but not 
until he was quite near did I see he was a white 
man. He was short and thickset, with hair and 
eyes as black as any Indian’s, and he wore the 
Indian costume ; but he had no scalplock, a bright 
silk handkerchief being bound tightly about his 
head. He stopped before me and looked at me a 
moment with glittering eyes. Then he turned and 
exchanged a few rapid words with the Indian who 
was guarding me. 

“ So,” he sneered, turning again to me, “ y’ run 
away, like th’ rest of ’em ! ” 

I looked back at him without answering, mar- 
veling that any but a savage could stand unmoved 
amid this slaughter. He, perhaps, caught the 
meaning of my look, for he laughed bitterly as he 
glanced about him. 

“ Yes, I ’m white,” he said, “ but I never got 
nothin’ but abuse from white men, — leastways 
Americans, — so I turned Injun. Maybe you’ve 
heard o’ me — Simon Girty ? ” 

He spoke the name with an intonation which 
told how proud of it he was, and he laughed again 
as he saw my look of loathing. 

“An’ you’ll hear more o’ me,” he added vi- 
ciously. “ How many men did St. Clair have ? ” 

“ About fourteen hundred,” I answered. 

“An’ we hed only twelve hunderd — yes, an’ 
three hunderd o’ them was left two mile back t’ 
watch th’ ho’ses ! We must ’a’ killed mighty nigh 
a man apiece,” he added exultantly. 


208 


THE HERITAGE 


I looked over the field, piled with bleeding 
bodies, and saw how nearly right he was. 

“Well, I’ll see y’ agin,” he said. “They’re 
goin’ t’ take y’ up t’ th’ Glaize,” and he walked 
away to claim his share of the booty. 

How busy the fiends were! My two captives 
made half a dozen trips from my tree to the field, 
returning each time laden with plunder, — muskets, 
knives, clothing, and finally a handsome markee 
tent, which I recognized as General Butler’s. 
Then a great crowd of squaws burst upon the field 
and fell to helping their masters. Yes — and 
something else I saw — a company of Canadians, 
commanded by two British officers, that had taken 
part in the battle I 

But let me hasten. The booty was collected, 
the last scalp taken. The horses were driven up 
and loaded, the women bent submissive backs to 
almost equal burdens ; I was loosed from the tree, 
a pack was lashed upon my back, and our little 
party went off slowly toward the north. We had 
only one horse, but each of the three men had 
brought a woman, so that their share of the booty 
was considerable. 

We made eight or nine miles ere sunset, and 
camped in a little hollow. Snow had begun to fall 
in the afternoon, and the men threw up a shel- 
ter of boughs, while the women roasted over the 
fire a raccoon which one of the men had shot. It 
was roasted whole, without dressing or prepara- 
tion of any kind, but I had eaten nothing since 
the night before and so was hungry enough to 


AWAKENING 


209 


relish anything. They released my hands that I 
might eat and treated me good naturedly enough, 
partly, no doubt, because so greatly pleased at the 
result of the day’s battle. In fact, one of them 
came as near jesting that night as I ever knew an 
Indian to do, for while we were sitting about the 
fire, he built a little snake fence out of twigs, then 
taking from his pocket a grain of corn wrapped in 
a piece of paper, he planted it near the fence, and 
looking at me, uttered the one word, “ Squaw ! ” 
I nodded to show that I understood, whereat he 
gravely dug up the grain of corn and restored it to 
his pocket, the others looking on impassively. But 
I knew what my work and station were to be 
henceforth, — lowly enough, yet infinitely better 
than the stake. 

Before they lay down for the night, they tied 
my hands again, and bound a rope of rawhide 
about my body and either end about themselves. 
Then they calmly went to sleep, assured that I 
could not escape. Indeed, I did not even try. In 
the first moments, I was burning for the venture, 
but a little thought convinced me how foolhardy it 
would be. Even could I slip away unseen — 
which was most unlikely — the woods were full of 
savages, and I, unskilled in woodcraft, must cer- 
tainly fall foul of some of them. What the result 
would be I knew quite well, and so, at last, I de- 
cided to await a better moment. 

The moon came up as I lay there staring out 
into the forest, and shot long, silvery beams quiver- 
ing down among the trees. Here and there they 


210 


THE HERITAGE 


touched the snow to a strange brilliancy. All 
about us the wilderness lay silent and asleep. It 
seemed I must have dreamed it — that battle in 
the early morning, that slaughter of brave men ! 
Yet I knew that it was not a dream — I knew that 
only a few miles away, seven hundred of my com- 
rades lay naked in the moonlight, each with his 
crown of blood. 


CHAPTER XXII 


I FIND A FKIEND 

We were up at dawn, and off again through the 
forest, after a hasty meal. We soon struck a trail 
which seemed much traveled, but during the whole 
day met no one. As the hours passed, my pack 
grew almost insupportable, and, at the end, I was 
stumbling like a drunken man ; yet the women 
seemed not to feel their burdens, which were even 
heavier than mine, but pressed on with a dogged 
endurance, which astonished and shamed me, it 
so outdid my own. Toward evening, one of my 
captors shot a turkey, and this we had for supper. 

By noon of the next day we came to the bank of 
the Auglaize, where, after a short search, two long 
canoes were drawn from beneath a pile of drift. 
Into one of these the loot was loaded, and the 
women clambered into it and paddled away. Two 
of my captors and I got into the other, while the 
third rode away on the horse. We pushed out 
into the middle of the stream, and were soon spin- 
ning along at a lively rate. We caught up with 
the women in the course of half an hour, and after 
a lively interchange of compliments at their lack 
of diligence, they bent sweating to the paddles and 
kept on ahead of us. 


212 


THE HERITAGE 


We must have made thirty miles before dark, 
but it was not until afternoon of the next day that 
we reached our destination, the Maumee, where 
there was quite an Indian town. I was surprised 
that we did not enter it at once ; but we camped 
just outside, and at dawn made elaborate prepara- 
tions for our entrance. 

And here I began to regret that I had not tried 
escape, for I was plainly destined for some impor- 
tant ceremony. They cut my hair as closely as 
they could, leaving only forelock and scalplock, 
tying them up with little strips of tin, and weav- 
ing in a dozen tail feathers from the turkey they 
had killed two days before. They got out a little 
box filled with red pigment, and daubed me over 
brow and cheeks. They ornamented themselves in 
like manner, and then, the women following laden 
with the booty, we set off toward the town. We 
were soon met by a great crowd of Indians, 
mostly old men and women and small children, 
who, as soon as they saw me, separated into two 
lines about twelve feet apart, and waited my com- 
ing. I knew what was toward, for I had heard 
often of the gauntlet ; but I saw no great reason 
for alarm, since none of themi was armed with 
anything more formidable than a hickory pole. 

So I looked at my captors for instructions, and 
when they motioned me forward, away I went 
between the lines as fast as my feet would carry 
me, reasoning that the quicker I got through the 
fewer blows I should receive. I got enough as it 
was, for they banged me over the head and across 


I FIND A FRIEND 


213 


the shoulders, with little grunts of satisfaction, in 
a way that left me sore for a week. They ran me 
down to the river and would have begun all over 
again, but that one of my captors intervened, — 
the tallest of them, the one who had told me I was 
to be a squaw, — and permitted me to wash off the 
blood from a little scalp wound, which I did but 
gingerly, since my old one was still very sore. I 
could not help laughing as I stood up again, for 
the event had been so much less dreadful than I 
had feared, and they all stood around regarding me 
so solemnly. He stared at me for a moment, and 
then strode up and linked his arm through mine. 

“ Man,” he said. “ No squaw ! Come,” and 
he led me away to where the women were strug- 
gling with the markee. I soon had it untangled, 
and we put it up and staked it firmly down, for it 
was to be our home henceforth, instead of the bark 
cabin that had sheltered them hitherto. Their few 
belongings were moved into the new quarters, and 
the change was complete. 

Beside my captor’s wife, there lived with us in 
the tent his mother, an old and wrinkled hag, and 
two children, a boy and a girl, who belonged to an 
Indian woman, then the mistress of George Iron- 
side, a British trader living at the station on the 
point just above the mouth of the Auglaize. The 
boy was said to be the son of Simon Girty, and he 
was certainly passionate and willful enough to be 
born of such a father. His mother came occa- 
sionally to see him and bring him some little gew- 
gaw, and she always called him Si-mo-ne. By 


214 


THE HERITAGE 


common consent, it seemed, I was christened Lay- 
law-she, or “ He-who-runs-away,” a name given 
me without any thought of ridicule or mockery. 

There is no need that I should detail here the 
slow and painful way in which I gained a know- 
ledge of the Delaware tongue. I gleaned it word 
by word as the weeks passed, and soon knew 
enough to catch the meaning of what was said to 
me, the more easily since all the Indians knew a 
little English. The man who had adopted me — 
for it seems that the linking of arms and leading 
me away constituted that ceremony — was named 
Whingwy Pooshies, or Big Cat, and a considera- 
ble affection sprang up between us. He was a 
great tall fellow, well on toward middle age, and 
perhaps his liking for me was fostered by the fact 
that he had no children of his own. Certainly, 
from first to last, he used me with the utmost kind- 
ness. 

He took me with him for visits of ceremony to 
his relatives, who received us always in impres- 
sive silence, but never failed to produce some food, 
usually a kind of soup of dried green corn, boiled 
with beans and dried pumpkin. We went, of 
course, to Buckongehelas, the chief of the Dela- 
wares, and even as far as the Seneca town, at the 
rapids fifty miles below, that we might pay our, 
respects to Blue Jacket. I shall not soon forget 
the appearance of that redoubtable chieftain, gor- 
geous in a British uniform, — the scarlet frock, 
laced with gold, confined about the waist by a sash 
of blue and crimson, with gold epaulettes on his 


I FIND A FRIEND 


215 


shoulders, and on his arms broad silver bracelets, 
while from his neck there hung a massive silver 
gorget and a larg^ medallion of his Majesty, 
George III. About his lodge hung rifles and 
war-clubs, spears and arrows, while the floor was 
covered with the skins of deer and bear and pan- 
ther. His face, with its high forehead, piercing 
eyes, aquiline nose, and wide mouth, impressed 
me as unusually intelligent and strong. 

His wife was a remarkably fine-looking woman, 
much lighter than the usual Indian, and she 
brought out the inevitable food, assisted by her 
two daughters. They seemed to me perfect types 
of Spanish beauty, and the younger especially 
drew my eyes. But they lingered only a moment. 

“ Will the white man come again to fight the 
red man ? ” asked Blue Jacket, when we had eaten 
the food and sat together some half hour without 
uttering a word. 

“ Oh, yes,” I said. 

“ You come from the rising sun ? ” 

I nodded, for I knew he meant the country 
beyond the mountains. 

“ Many white men there ? ” 

“ As many as the leaves on the trees,” and I 
waved my hand toward the forest opposite, decid- 
ing that a little exaggeration could do no harm. 

He sat for a long time without speaking. 

“We will beat them,” he said at last. “We 
will drive them back across the Big Eiver. They 
know not how to fight.” 

I shook my head. “ You will never drive them 


216 


THE HERITAGE 


back. Some day one will come who knows how to 
fight — it were well to make peace before that day.” 

A dozen times at least I repeated these words to 
the different chiefs, but they were thinking of any- 
thing but peace. The loot from our army had 
made them rich in everything an Indian needs; 
the British were urging them on, giving them guns 
and powder and promising them aid. Indeed, 
twice every year there was a great gathering at 
the rapids, where the British distributed gifts, — 
tinsel, blankets, rum ; where new rifles were given 
for old, and new knives for broken ones. And 
always and ever was dinned into their ears the 
statement that the British were their true friends 
and the Americans their relentless enemies, who 
itched to steal their lands. 

Spring came, and with it the planting of the 
corn. Big Cat’s wife and mother, armed with 
little hoes, sallied forth to the bottom, opened up 
some two acres of the soft ground, and planted 
their treasured seed. Then his wife awaited anx- 
iously the first moonless night, when she slipped 
from the tent and hurried to the field. There 
she stripped herself and walked rapidly around 
it, dragging her garments after her, to insure a 
prolific crop and guard against the assaults of 
worms and insects, which could not cross this 
enchanted line. All the matrons in the valley 
were performing the same rite, while the men kept 
close at home that it might go forward unpro- 
faned. The rich earth did its work well, and soon 
all up and down the river the dark green stalks 


I FIND A FRIEND 


217 


were waving. The com was not fenced, as the 
horses were kept back from the river on the high 
ground, and the whole work of its care and culti- 
vation fell upon the women. Big Cat sternly for- 
bidding me when I offered to assist them. Our 
work, it seemed, was to fish and hunt. 

My first experience at fishing was most doleful. 
I had caught a string of catfish, than which there is 
none sweeter, and bore them proudly to the tent ; 
but in the door Big Cat met me, and with a single 
glance at them tore them from my hand and fiung 
them fifty feet away. And while I stared, aston- 
ished, he explained that any scaleless fish was 
unclean and not to be eaten. They had other 
prejudices, I found, for they would not eat rabbit, 
and pork only when there was nothing else. 

With the first ripening of the corn, a great feast 
offering was made to Manito. A hundred fires 
were kindled to prepare the grain for him, and all 
the people joined in the sacred — and somewhat 
revolting — rites. The first game of every hunt 
was offered in like manner, — skinned and dressed 
whole, roasted over a great fire, eaten of by each 
member of the party, and then burned entirely. 

As I look back over that period of my life, it 
amuses me to remember how concerned I was lest 
I “ turn Indian,’’ and lose the wish to leave them, 
as so many captives did. The danger was the 
gi’eater because I found the wild wood-life so fas- 
cinating, and because those were plenteous times 
with us and without hardship. There were no 
more raids against us, and our corn ripened undis- 


1 


218 THE HERITAGE 

turbed ; game grew plentiful again, and our tent 
was stocked with everything we needed for our 
comfort. I suffered somewhat from the cold of 
the first winter, but felt it little afterward. Now 
and again a band of warriors would pass through 
the town on their way to Detroit after a raid 
against the settlements, and the scalps swinging at 
their belts would give me a moment of revulsion ; 
but it was all so far away — the fighting, the 
border settlements, home — that the impression 
quickly passed. 

Astonished at this, and fearing for the result, I 
made it a rule to spend at least an hour every 
evening thinking over the old life, and recalling its 
incidents. This I did, almost without exception, 
while I remained a captive, and to it I doubtless 
owe the memory of many things which otherwise 
I had long since forgotten. I would start with my 
very earliest recollection — of that dinner at Berke- 
ley, of Arnold’s visit — and proceed thence year 
by year, so that memories buried in dim corners 
of my brain were brought one by one to light. 
And ever and ever I thought of Frederic and of 
Ruth. Had he escaped from the battle, — had he 
gone back to Riverview ? Drawn by his love I 
knew he must be, and won by it must Ruth be in 
the end. Perhaps they were already wedded, — 
much may happen in two years ! — and how often 
did I look up at the bright, friendly stars, and 
pray for them ! Ruth and Frederic — Frederic 
and Ruth — the light and the dark — the sunshine 
and the shadow, — they were with me always, an 


I FIND A FRIEND 


219 


undertone to my thoughts, a background for every 
fancy. And I think, living thus with them, I came 
to love them both more dearly than ever. 

During these hours of reverie. Big Cat sat often 
with me, saying never a word, thinking perhaps of 
his own past. The subject of those intervals of 
long and seemingly profound meditation which are 
so common with them was one of the mysteries of 
Indian life I never penetrated. 

It was in the fall of that year I first saw the 
“ Garden of the Earth,” as the Indians called that 
valley where Frederic and I had hoped to place our 
claims. It was the time for securing the winter’s 
supply of meat, and a hunt was organized, includ- 
ing, besides Big Cat and myself, eight other men 
and three old women. We paddled up the Au- 
glaize to its head, consuming three days on the 
trip, and then made a long portage to the head- 
waters of the Scioto. Along its banks game was 
very plentiful, but we dropped down the river 
some fifty miles before we established our quarters 
by building a cabin of bark and erecting a plat- 
form upon which our catch might be kept in safety 
until we were ready to return. Deer were especially 
plentiful that year, and the women were kept busy 
drying the meat and stretching the skins. Most 
of this hunting was done by night. The deer came 
down to the river to eat a kind of watercress, and 
seemed fascinated by a torch in the bow of our 
canoe, usually permitting us to float so near that 
they were shot quite easily. One night we got 
twelve deer in this way, and as this would keep 


220 


THE HERITAGE 


the women busy for some days, it was proposed by 
Big Cat that we paddle down the river to the 
Shawanese towns. I was eager to go, but the 
other braves preferred to idle in camp ; so next 
morning he and I set off alone together. 

For many miles the river flowed along between 
broad bottoms, densely wooded with maple and 
sycamore. Gradually its course deepened into a 
valley, with low hills far back on either side, but 
these finally fell so far away that they were lost to 
sight. That night we stopped at a little Kickapoo 
village on the Great Plains, whither Lord Dun- 
more had marched on his memorable expedition, 
nearly twenty years before. It consisted of fifteen 
or twenty squalid cabins, and Big Cat explained 
to me that the better part of the tribe had moved 
westward to the Wabash, and left this broad plain 
to this remnant and to the mongrel Mingoes. Yet 
they treated us hospitably enough, gave us of the 
best they had to eat, and told us a piece of news 
that made my heart leap. Another great force 
was assembling along the Big River to march 
against the Indians, — the greatest the white man 
had ever mustered ! I tried to blot all trace of 
feeling from my face, but I fear the eyes of my 
companion read all I would have hidden. He made 
no comment, only that evening seemed more taci- 
turn than usual. 

We were off again at dawn, and soon left the 
plain behind, entering a broad and beautiful val- 
ley, with the rounded hills growing ever higher 
and more near, until at last, after a long sweep to 


I FIND A FRIEND 


221 


the right, in the effort to escape, the river was 
forced back again and hurried past the foot of a 
high precipice. Here Big Cat ran the canoe 
ashore, and motioning me to follow, clambered 
rapidly upward. Near the top we found a great 
bare boulder half buried in the mountain-side, 
whence the broad valley lay stretched before us. 
To right and left, far as the eye could see, hills 
fell away in endless succession ; at our feet the 
river hurried between its banks, anxious to escape 
into the meadows below; beyond it, for three 
miles or more, a level bottom stretched to the foot 
of another range of hills, purple in the distance. 

“ This is the land the white man covets,” said 
Big Cat with a broad sweep of his arm, “but 
which he is not strong enough to steal.” 

“Remember the story we heard yesterday,” I 
said. “ The white man arms again.” 

“ Let him,” and Big Cat’s lips curled disdain- 
fully. “ He will bring us scalps and booty.” 

I did not answer, for indeed I feared it might 
be even so. And presently we descended to our 
boat again, dropped down the river some miles 
farther to the mouth of a creek which Big Cat 
called the Olomon, and paddled up it to the Shaw- 
anese town of Che-le-co-the. It was a consider- 
able one, beautifully located, composed of well- 
built houses, and surrounded by broad fields of 
corn. Here, again, we were received with kind- 
ness, and in the evening a young chief named 
Tecumseh came to sit with us. I had never heard 
of him, but was attracted at once by his beauty 


222 


THE HERITAGE 


and intelligence. He had, of course, the Indian 
hair and eyes, but his nose was less arched, his 
cheek-bones less pronounced, his forehead higher, 
and his mouth more finely cut than is usual with 
his race. After the first half hour of meditative 
silence which courtesy required, he asked me many 
questions concerning the whites, speaking our lan- 
guage fairly well. I answered him as well as I 
was able, but could teU him nothing of this new 
expedition. Indeed, he knew more than I, for he 
told me that, during the whole summer, forces had 
been assembling at Fort Pitt, and that a great 
camp for the winter had been built a few miles 
below the junction of the rivers. And as he 
talked, in every word and gesture, in the gleaming 
of his eyes and the nervous twitching of his mouth, 
I could read undying hatred of the invader. 

We started back next morning up the river, and 
three days later reached the camp. It was decided 
that we had meat enough, so the jerk was tied up 
in the skins, and the canoes loaded. They would 
hold only half our catch, and with this we paddled 
up to the portage, and Big Cat and I were left in 
charge of it there, while the others brought up the 
remainder. The trip over the portage was a 
weary one, but at the end of a week, we had the 
meat all safely stowed away at our home on the 
Maumee, and settled down to spend the winter in 
comfortable idleness. 

We found the Glaize in a state of great commo- 
tion, for a mighty council was being held at the 
point, under the influence of the two British trad- 


I FIND A FRIEND 


223 


ers, Ironside and McKee. Such a gathering of 
the northwest tribes had never been held before. 
Forty chiefs came from the Six Nations ; fifty 
from the seven tribes of Canada ; a hundred from 
the twenty-seven nations of the north ; from west 
of the Father of Waters they came, until the 
Indians themselves could not tell the names of 
them. And as I looked them over as they passed 
through the village back and forth to the councils, 
I realized the magnitude of the task which lay 
before this new expedition. 

For the whole tenor of the councils was for war. 
The Shawanese chiefs spoke for it; Tarhe, the 
great sachem of the Wyandots, wished it ; Girty, 
the only white man admitted to the councils, de- 
manded it (thank Heaven, he had forgotten me, 
and I saw no more of him!). The settlers must 
be driven back beyond the Ohio — the hour was 
at hand I It seemed for a time that the whole 
horde of savages from the northwest would be 
summoned forthwith to march against the settle- 
ments, but the milder counsel of Blue Jacket 
finally prevailed, and it was decided to consent to 
an armistice. They would not take up the hatchet 
until they had heard what the President had to say 
to them, and a conference was called at the Maumee 
Rapids for the next spring, when the leaves were 
fully out. That decision reached, they started on 
the homeward trail, but not until a party of the 
Shawanese and Miamis, under Little Turtle, had 
returned from the south with a great prize of 
scalps and booty. 


CHAPTER XXin 


OPPORTUNITY 

There was quite a town at the Glaize, as the 
junction of the Auglaize and Maumee was called, 
for it was here the British found it most conven- 
ient to meet their Indian allies, to purchase pel- 
tries from them, and to induce them to maintain 
unceasing war against the border settlements. The 
British settlement was on the point between the 
two rivers, and almost opposite the Delaware town, 
where, extending some distance up the Auglaize, 
was an open space, flanked on the west and south 
by oak woods with hazel undergrowth. Here the 
cabins were grouped. The most northerly and the 
largest was that of George Ironside, of whom I 
have already spoken, the wealthiest and most influ- 
ential of the traders on the point. It was a large 
house of hewed logs, and was used as a warehouse, 
store, and dwelling. Fronting this, and much 
nearer the river bank, was a small stockade, 
inclosing two log houses, in one of which lived 
James Girty, a brother of the renegade Simon, 
the other being used by the British Indian agents, 
McKee and Elliott, as a storehouse for arms and 
ammunition. Next to Ironside’s house was the 
cabin of a French baker named Perault, and then 


OPPORTUNITY 


225 


came the cabin of a Scotchman named McKenzie, 
a silversmith by trade, who exchanged his earrings, 
bracelets, and brooches for peltries, reaping an 
enormous profit. Still farther south were several 
families of French and English, and there, one 
day, during one of my infrequent visits to the 
point, I met two Americans, prisoners like myself, 
and like myself captured at St. Clair’s defeat. 
They were Henry Ball and his wife, neither of 
whom I remembered in the slightest, though they 
said they remembered me quite well ; but I spent 
many pleasant hours with them. They were being 
permitted by their masters to work out their ran- 
som, he by boating to the rapids, and she by wash- 
ing and sewing. 

Ball had been a sergeant in one of the companies 
of levies, and had been so certain of the success 
of the expedition that he had brought his wife 
along, intending to locate a tomahawk claim as 
soon as the campaign ended. She was a fat, 
motherly woman, with an abounding fund of cheer- 
fulness, which her terrifying experiences had not 
diminished in the least. Their ransom would be 
worked out, she told me, in another year, and they 
were thinking of settling among the Indians as 
traders. 

“ But surely,” she said to me one day, “ a fine 
young gentleman like yourself don’t need t’ stay 
here among th’ Injuns ! Won’t your folks pay 
your ransom ? ” 

It was a thing that I had thought of more than 
once, but I knew that my fathei* could not, and 


226 


THE HERITAGE 


I shrank from calling any further upon Colonel 
Stewart’s bounty. Besides, I had a lively fear of 
ridicule, and it did seem ridiculous that I, who had 
been so eager to march against the Indians, should 
have to be bought back from them like so much 
merchandise. It would be much more fitting, I 
concluded, for me to effect my own escape, but a 
chance had been long in coming. Yes, and one 
more obstacle lay in the way. I had one day 
broached the subject of ransom to Big Cat, think- 
ing that I might follow the example of the Balls 
and work out mine, but he had silenced me with a 
sentence. 

“ Does a father take ransom for his son ? ” he 
asked, and I knew that if I was to get away, it 
must be through my own wit and resource. 

The months passed, winter changed to spring, 
and still there was no sign of the expedition we 
had been told of on the Scioto. Commissioners 
from the United States met with the Indians, 
according to the arrangement of the fall before, 
but the conference was a short one. For the In- 
dians made the peremptory demand that the Ohio 
be fixed as the southern boundary of their land ; 
to this the commissioners could not agree, and were 
summarily told by Girty to go home. Guns and 
ammunition without stint were given to the In- 
dians by the British agents, and to cap the aggres- 
sion, the governor of Canada, at the head of a force 
of British regulars, marched to the Maumee rapids, 
and proceeded to erect a fort there, .manned with 
British cannon and garrisoned by British troops ! 


OPPORTUNITY 


227 


I could not credit the talk I heard of this thing, 
and myself went down to the rapids with Big Cat 
to verify it. But there was no doubting the evi- 
dence of my eyes — there was the fort, and the red 
coats of its garrison were not to be mistaken. It 
was some distance below the rapids, on the west 
bank, just at a point where the river made a short, 
graceful curve to the east. We approached it 
without interference, and I had opportunity to ex- 
amine it closely. It was a regular strong work, 
the front covered by the river, and mounted with 
four guns ; the rear having two bastions, furnished 
with eight pieces of artillery ; the whole surrounded 
by a wide, deep ditch and an abattis. 

“ Is Lay-la w-she satisfied ? ” asked Big Cat, at 
last. 

“ Yes,” I answered gloomily, and we set off 
together up the river to the head of the rapids, 
where we had left our canoe. There was a trail 
along the bank, which sloped steeply up from the 
water to a height of near a hundred feet. Some 
three miles above the fort, and quite near the 
river, was a considerable hill, called Presque Isle. 
Near its foot lay a great rock, covered with rude 
carving, — a sacred rock, where the Indians 
brought their offerings to Manito, — and Big Cat 
stopped to place a bit of tobacco upon it. A lit- 
tle farther on, we came to a wide opening in the 
forest, where a hurricane had cut its way many 
years before. A chaos of gnarled trunks and 
branches lay piled together, and about and be- 
tween them grew a tall, wild grass, which, I thought. 


228 


THE HERITAGE 


must afford a splendid hiding place for game. A 
mile more, and we passed Koche de Bout, where a 
third of the Ottawas lost their lives in a sudden 
tribal quarrel, and darkness had fallen ere we 
reached our canoe. 

We decided to spend the night there, and Big 
Cat and I sat long together after our meal of dried 
corn and jerk. I had much to think of, and I saw 
that my companion’s brain was also busy. The 
moon rose as we sat there, and lighted up the val- 
ley — with its rich bottoms, its endless fields of 
corn, its countless huts of bark and logs and skins. 
Here, indeed, was the great centre of Indian life, 
where it was richest and pleasantest. 

“ If the men of Lay-law-she’s nation cannot de- 
feat the Indians alone,” he began at last, “ how 
can they hope to defeat them and their friends, 
the British, when they go to war together ? ” 

“ We have beaten the British once, Big Cat,” 
I answered, “ and we can do it again. The In- 
dians were their allies then as now.” 

He sat for many minutes turning this over and 
looking at it, I suppose, from every side. 

“ Has Lay-la w-she been happy here ? ” he asked. 

“ Why, fairly so. Big Cat,” I answered, looking 
at him in surprise. 

“ And Big Cat has been his friend ? ” 

“ Big Cat has been his father,” I said, and 
meant it. 

“ Then why should not Lay-la w-she take a wo- 
man and live here always ? ” 

“ Why — why — Big Cat,” I stammered, “ I 


OPPORTUNITY 


229 


have n’t seen any woman around here I ’d care to 
have.” 

“Not the daughter of Blue Jacket? Lay-law- 
she looked at her with favor.” 

The old rascal ! It was only a glance, but it 
had not escaped him. 

“ Nonsense, my friend ! ” I protested. “ Blue 
Jacket will want a thousand peltries for his 
daughter. I have n’t one.” 

“ Shall Big Cat ask Blue Jacket ? ” 

“ For God’s sake, no ! ” I cried in a panic. “ I 
don’t want her. Big Cat.” 

“ Other white men have looked twice at her,” 
he persisted, “ and have found her comely.” 

“ No doubt,” I assented dryly. “ Still, I don’t 
want her. Big Cat.” 

He stopped to ponder my obstinacy, and then a 
brilliant thought occurred to him. 

“Perhaps Lay-law-she has already entered the 
lodge of a white maiden,” said he, “and offered 
her the lighted calumet.” 

“ Perhaps,” I assented again, beginning to 
weary somewhat at his insistence. 

“ But you may never go back to her,” he went 
on. “ Even if you do, she may have taken another 
man. At least, until you do go back, you could 
take Blue Jacket’s daughter.” 

“ Listen to me. Big Cat,” I said. “ It is not 
with us as with the Indian. A white man takes 
one wife, and no more. He looks at no other wo- 
man, and he keeps his wife for himself only. He 
does not lend her to his guests, nor sell her to his 


230 


THE HERITAGE 


friends, nor trade her for some other woman. He 
does not make her do all his work for him — he 
tills his own fields, and hews his own wood, and 
carries his own burdens. I can’t make you under- 
stand of course, you look at it in such a different 
way — but so it is.” 

He sat gazing out at the woods and the river for 
some moments. 

“ It may be,” he said at last, “ but the white 
men who come among us do not so. They take 
our wives, our daughters ” — 

“ I know,” I interrupted, “ they rob you of your 
women as well as of your peltries. But they are 
bad men. Big Cat. At home, for doing that, they 
would be set in the stocks, or locked in prison, or 
even hanged, perhaps. If I took Blue Jacket’s 
daughter, I could take no other woman. No — 
it won’t do.” 

He said no more, but for an hour sat in deep 
thought. I looked at him more than once and 
wondered why he had treated me so kindly — for 
kind he had been in a way which I could, thank 
God, one day repay. I rather expected him to 
recur to his marriage project, but he did not, 
thinking, perhaps, that as time went on I might 
become more impressed with the charms of the 
damsel he had selected for me, and for whom, I 
verily believe, he would have given the peltries 
asked. Indeed, she was a handsome woman, tall, 
lithe as a panther, narrow-hipped, with a face al- 
luring as a woman’s could be. But for the memory 
of another locked in my heart, I might easily have 


OPPORTUNITY 


231 


fallen victim to it, and spent the remainder of my 
days cheerfully in the wilderness. There was that 
in the life which must appeal to every man — the 
freedom, the hand-to-hand struggle for existence, 
the great untrodden stretches of forest — all these 
awoke an instinct born with the first of all savages, 
and which the ages cannot quite wear away. 

But at last, fresh rumors came from the south 
of a great host gathering on the Ohio, of a general 
who drilled his men night and day, of supplies sent 
forward, of new forts building, — one on the very 
field where, for two years, seven hundred skeletons 
had bleached beneath the sun. Spring passed, and 
summer came, and all along the Maumee the In- 
dians were gathering, fed by the British and armed 
by them, summoned from the farthest limits of the 
northwest to meet the invader. At last, early in 
June, a force of a thousand warriors, eager for 
blood, led by Little Turtle, started southward to 
seek the enemy ; a month later, the remnant of the 
force came back, having failed utterly and lost 
many men in the assault upon Fort Recovery. It 
was a reverse quite unexpected, and the British 
had no little trouble to keep their allies in the 
mood for war. More than one council was held, 
in which even the redoubtable Little Turtle was 
openly for peace. 

“We have beaten the enemy twice under sepa- 
rate commanders,^’ he said at one of these councils, 
referring to Harmar and St. Clair, against both of 
whom he had led the allies, “ but we cannot ex- 
pect the same good fortune to attend us always. 


232 


THE HERITAGE 


The Americans are now led by a chief who never 
sleeps ; the night and the day are alike to him, and 
during all the time he has been marching upon 
our villages, despite the watchfulness of our young 
men, we have not once been able to surprise him. 
Think well of it. There is something that whis- 
pers to me it would be well to accept his offers of 
peace.” 

But the ever war-thirsty Shawanese and the 
persuasions of the British overmastered this ad- 
vice, and everywhere there was preparation for 
the conflict. Every warrior was needed, and Big 
Cat donned his feathers and made ready to go 
with the others. The near prospect of battle 
aroused the savage in him, and more than once, as 
he looked at me, I grew uneasy concerning my 
own fate. But he soon set my fears at rest by 
dispatching me with three old men and two boys 
on a candle-hunting expedition to Blanchard’s 
fork. He charged them strictly to kill me should 
they suspect me of attempting to escape, and 
warned me to expect no mercy. After my people 
had been again defeated, he added, I should live 
with him once more as his son. 

We were out nearly two months, during which 
time I heard not a word concerning the war, nor 
found any opportunity of escape, so closely did 
they watch me. August came, and finally, laden 
with skins and jerk, we returned to the Glaize, not 
doubting that the campaign was long since ended. 
The town was deserted, but supposing the people 
had gone to the rapids to get their presents from 


OPPORTUNITY 


233 


the British, we stored away our meat, and were 
just getting breakfast, when suddenly down the 
river came an Indian runner, giving the alarm 
whoop. We rushed out of the tent, and oh, how 
my heart leaped as I saw entering the village a com- 
pany of riflemen in blue ! 

There was no time to hesitate — I sprang away 
from my captors and ran zigzag along the river, 
expecting a buUet every instant. In a moment, 
the men in front saw me and raised their rifles. 

“ Don’t shoot ! ” I cried. “ Don’t shoot ! ” and 
I held my hands high above my head. 

They halted and awaited me, their rifles still 
presented. 

“ Damned if it ain’t a white man ! ” cried one, as 
I dashed among them. “ Who in God’s name are 
you ? ” 

“Stewart Randolph, taken captive with St. 
Clair. And you ? ” 

“The vanguard of Wayne’s legion.” 

And at the words I broke down utterly. I 
could only sob and sob like a child, and cling to 
them and thank God that it was so. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


OLD FRIENDS AND NEW 

I WAS taken back about three miles, and there 
we found the army advancing cautiously toward 
the Glaize, in ordered ranks and with a perfect 
discipline. With the first line was the general and 
his staff, and they reined in their horses as we ap- 
proached them. 

“ A prisoner ? Good ! ” he cried. 

“ He is a white man who escaped to us, sir,” 
said my conductor. “ He says he was taken cap- 
tive at St. Clair’s defeat.” 

The general was looking down at me with inter- 
ested face. 

“ At St. Clair’s defeat ? ” he repeated. “ What 
is your name, sir ? ” 

“ Stewart Randolph, sir,” I answered. “ I was 
aide on the general’s staff.” 

One of his followers uttered a little cry and 
threw himself from the saddle. 

“ Stewart ! ” he cried, and caught me by the 
shoulders. “ Look at me ! Don’t you know me ? ” 

I looked at him — at the blue eyes, the delicate 
face, the mouth with the little twist at one corner. 

“ Harry ! ” I cried. “ Harry ! ” 

“ Dear boy ! ” and he caught me to him, the 


OLD FRIENDS AND NEW 


235 


tears streaming down his face. “ Why, this is 
like one risen from the grave ! We thought you 
dead these three years, Stewart ! God’s mercy I ” 
and he held me off to look at me. “ Pardon me, 
sir,” he added to the general. “ Don’t think me 
a baby ; but we were boys together ; ’t is like find- 
ing my own brother! ” 

“ There, there ! ” cried the general. “ Not a 
word. Lieutenant Harrison I I appreciate your 
feelings, sir, and respect them. One question, 
Mr. Randolph. Are there any Indians at the 
Glaize?” 

“Not one, sir,” I answered. “They have all 
gone down to the rapids, I think.” 

“ Are they for peace or war ? ” 

“ For war, sir, — every brave is under arms — 
under British arms.” 

“ Ay,” he said grimly. “ I know. And under 
the walls of a British fort, I hear. I foresee you 
will be of great service to me, Mr. Randolph. 
Bring him to quarters this evening, lieutenant. I 
relieve you from duty until then,” and he rode on, 
leaving us together. 

“ Dear boy I ” said Harry softly, linking his arm 
in mine. “ It is a miracle ! Why, do you know, 
I was sent with the party to bury the dead on 
St. Clair’s field. Such a horrible task it was — 
only the skeletons were left — and Frederic and 
I found one which we were certain was yours” — 

“^Frederic ? ” I repeated. “ He escaped then ? 
Thank God for that.” 

“ And what a fool lam!” cried Harry. “ Think- 


236 


THE HERITAGE 


ing only of myself ! Here, orderly, take this 
horse. Come with me, Stewart — what a fool ! ” 

He led the way rapidly to the left, where we came 
at last upon a flanking party. 

“ Where is your captain ? ” he asked. 

“ Ahead there, sir,” and we hurried on along the 
way pointed out to us. 

“ There he is,” said my companion, and I caught 
sight of a tall figure breaking its way through the 
underbrush. I was trembling so that I could 
scarcely stand, but I ran forward, stumbling, trip- 
ping. The figure turned quickly, and I saw one 
hand drop to a pistol. 

“ Frederic ! ” I cried. “ Frederic ! Frederic ! ” 

His face went white and he stood like a man of 
marble, as I blundered forward and threw my arms 
about him, my head on his breast, and I heard a 
choked, hoarse voice, which was mine yet not like 
mine, repeating “ Brother, brother, brother, bro- 
ther,” over and over. I felt the great sob that 
shook him as he lifted my face to his and looked 
into my eyes, then bent and kissed me with quiver- 
ing lips, tender as a mother. What he said, I know 
not, — his first words were frenzied as my own, — 
and presently Harry came and led me away to 
the place where the legion was to camp. 

“ Frederic will be off duty soon,” he said. 
“ Meanwhile, I want to make a white man of you.” 

So the tin was untwisted and the scalp lock cut 
back ; I changed my leggings and hunting-shirt for 
a uniform, and my moccasins for a pair of stout 
boots. How they galled me at first ! And before 


OLD FRIENDS AND NEW 


237 


I had quite finished Frederic came, and I must 
sit down between them and tell my story, and they 
each had one to tell me in return. 

It was Frederic who told me of the rout to Fort 
Jefferson, of the discovery that I was missing, of 
his attempt to go back after me ; of the storm of 
wrath that had burst about the general’s head 
because of the defeat — God knows how little re- 
sponsible he was for it — until his resignation 
was forced; of the selection of General Wayne — 
Mad Anthony — to succeed him. Frederic had 
at once joined Wayne’s Legion, promoted to the 
rank of captain. He had passed the winter with 
the troops in camp near Pittsburg, thence back to 
Fort Washington, where the summer was spent. In 
the fall the army had moved forward six miles 
beyond Fort Jefferson, where a fort was built for 
winter quarters and christened Greenville. Day 
after day the levies were drilled and exercised with 
sabre and bayonet, until they formed a compact, 
well-disciplined army of three thousand men. 
Clouds of scouts were kept out to prevent the 
approach of spies, and roads were cut through the 
forest. The general knew how much depended 
on success, and would take no chances. He refused 
to be hurried ; he would not move until the army 
was shaped exactly to his liking. The last of J une, 
came General Scott into camp with sixteen hundred 
mounted Kentuckians, apt in frontier warfare. At 
last the general was satisfied, and the advance was 
taken up. 

“ And we have an army,” concluded Frederic, 


238 


THE HERITAGE 


“ not a mob of cowards. The general has spent 
two years in forging it.” 

“ So you have not been home ? ” I asked. 

He flushed as he met my glance. 

“ No, I did not dare.” 

“ Not dare ? ” 

“ How should they receive me when I had left 
you dead behind me in the wilderness ? ” 

I understood and put my arm about him. 

“Well,” I said, “once this campaign is ended, 
we will go home.” 

“ Yes,” he answered simply, but there was a tone 
in his voice which told how great had been his 
longing. 

“ But you have heard from them ? ” 

“ Oh, yes — Colonel Stewart writes me. They 
are well. Father is managing an estate just below 
River view.” 

I asked no further questions, but I guessed how 
bitterly he had blamed himself — yes, and how 
bitterly, perhaps, others had blamed him — and 
how unjustly. 

Harry’s story was sooner told. He had begun 
the study of medicine at Philadelphia, but he had 
small liking for it, and at the end of a year had 
progressed so little that his guardian had expostu- 
lated with him. Harry replied that he felt it 
impossible to advance in a profession where his 
thoughts could not be concentrated, but that in the 
army he believed he should not disgrace his family. 
Mr. Morris was horrified at this, and pointed out 
how little likely it was that one so weak physically 


OLD FRIENDS AND NEW 


239 


could bear the hardships of such a calling. “ My 
dear Harry,” he said, “ one night on a battlefield, 
one forced march, through snow or rain, would be 
the death of you.” But the boy’s purpose was not 
to be turned aside, and he persuaded the president 
to give him an ensign’s commission in the First 
Artillery, with which, on the news of Harmar’s 
defeat, he at once proceeded to Fort Washington. 
He reached there just in time to see St. Clair’s 
vanquished army straggle in. General Wayne 
had appointed him a member of his family, and 
he had been with the legion from the very first. 

“ Last December,” he went on, “ the general sent 
a force of artillery and infantry to take possession 
of the ground of the defeat,’ and Frederic and I went 
with it. The place was strewn with skeletons, and 
with one of them, half buried in underbrush by 
the roadside, some little distance from the field, we 
found a knife with your initials cut into the hilt. 
Frederic knew it at once, and not doubting that 
the body was yours, we buried it separately at the 
foot of a tree and cut your name and age upon it.” 

“ It was the body of poor Purdy,” I said, and 
told them of my attempt to save his life and of 
giving him the knife. 

“ The bodies were buried with military honors,” 
he added, “ and we fired three volleys over them 
with the cannon that had been left upon the field. 
Then we erected a fortification, and named it Fort 
Recovery .” 

It was this, in the latter part of June, that the 
expedition under Little Turtle had attacked in 


240 


THE HERITAGE 


vain, as I have already told, and where the Indians 
had lost so heavily. 

“ And now,” he concluded, “ we must go to the 
general. He wiU be awaiting us.” 

As we went through the camp, I could not but 
notice the precautions to guard against surprise. 
Picket guards had been thrown out on every side 
and a strong advance and rear guard stationed. 
The four sub-legions were camped in the form of a 
great square, with the dragoons at the corners, and 
a park of artillery opposite headquarters in the 
centre. This, so Harry told me, was the order of 
camp every day. Small wonder the Indians had 
not been able to surprise it ; here, indeed, was a 
general who never slept ! 

We found him in his tent, busy with orders for 
the fort, which he intended to erect at once at the 
extreme point between the rivers. 

“I have been expecting you, gentlemen,” he 
said, as we entered. “ I will be through this busi- 
ness in a moment.” 

He turned away to give some final orders and I 
had a chance to look at him unobserved. I had 
heard often of Mad Anthony — the hero of Mon- 
mouth, of Stony Point, of Green Springs, and of 
a hundred other fields — and of the gallantry, 
dash, and headlong courage which had won for him 
the fond nickname. I saw a man of nearly sixty, a 
little above the medium height, and dressed with a 
care unique on the frontier. His face, lighted by 
a pair of the fieriest hazel eyes I ever looked into, 
was singularly attractive, with its high forehead. 


OLD FRIENDS AND NEW 


241 


arched nose, and mouth sweet and firm ; and I saw 
in an instant that here was a man to love as 
well as honor. 

The last orderly hurried away and he turned 
back to us. 

“ And now, Lieutenant Randolph,” he said, “ sit 
down and let us have your story.” 

He laughed as he saw my look of surprise, and 
picked up a paper from his desk. 

“ I have made out your appointment here,” he 
said, and tossed it to me. “ As I have said 
already, you will be of great use to me.” 

I grew red with pleasure and started to stammer 
my thanks, but he stopped me with a gesture. 

“ No, no,” he protested ; “ let us have the story.” 

So I told it again as briefiy as I could. 

“ And they are awaiting us at the rapids ? ” 

“ I believe so, sir.” 

“ My scouts believe so too. You think them 
bent on war ? ” 

“ I am sure of it, sir. The British ” — 

“Yes, I know. Well, they shall have war!” 
and he brought his* fist down on the table with a 
crash. “Yes, and by God, the British, too, if they 
attempt to interfere I ” 

There was no mistaking the earnestness of those 
gleaming eyes. 

“We would have surprised them here,” he 
added more calmly, “ but that a scoundrelly spy 
who had got into Ford’s company escaped to them 
with news of our approach. So they scurried 
away to the shelter of that fort the British have 


242 


THE HERITAGE 


put up. But no matter — How many warriors 
do you think they muster ? ” 

“ At least two thousand, sir,” I answered. “ The 
whole northwest is there.” 

“ So much the better,” he said grimly. “ We 
will teach them a lesson they will never forget. 
You know the rapids, do you not?” 

“Yes, sir. I was over the ground not three 
months since,” and I described it to him as well as 
I was able. 

“ I attach you to my staff, sir,” he said when I 
had finished. “ I shall want you near me on the 
day of battle.” 

He dismissed us with that, and we left the tent 
to find that the new fort, which was to be named 
Defiance, was already under way, and in the week 
that followed it was made into a strong defense. 
It was square, with a block-house at each angle, 
connected by a line of pickets. Around the whole 
‘was a glacis, a wall of earth eight feet thick, 
sloping upwards and outwards. Outside of this 
was dug a ditch fifteen feet wide and eight feet 
deep, surrounding the whole work, except on the 
side of the Auglaize, and another ditch was dug 
to the river, so that water might be brought with- 
out exposing the carriers to the enemy’s fire. There 
were gates at north and south, reached by draw- 
bridges which spanned the ditch. No force the 
Indians could muster would ever put this strong- 
hold in danger. 

At the end of a week it was so nearly done that 
the advance was ordered, and three days later we 


OLD FRIENDS AND NEW 


243 


reached the head of the rapids. Here a message 
from the Indians asked for ten days’ truce, hut the 
general would hear of no delay, and prepared to 
move forward at once. It was certain that the 
savages were awaiting us near the British fort a 
few miles below, and we paused to strip for battle. 
I had only one cause of uneasiness — the general 
had been seized by an attack of gout, but was 
fighting against it stubbornly. Could he keep in 
the saddle all would be well ; but without him . . . 

He gave no sign of flagging energies. On the 
nineteenth day of August, works were thrown up 
near Roche de Bout to secure our heavy baggage, 
and named appropriately Fort Deposit. At noon, 
the general issued orders that the legion would 
march against the enemy at dawn. 


CHAPTER XXV 


BATTLE 

The camp was astir at dawn, and the scouts 
came in with the news that the enemy was await- 
ing us behind that natural abattis of fallen trees 
which I had remarked three months before, and 
thought such an excellent hiding-place. They had 
chosen their ground with care, and it was evident 
that it would take no little resolution to rout them 
out of it, since every advantage would be upon 
their side. 

Breakfast was soon over, and the army, eager 
for the battle, was put under arms. The general, 
still suffering from gout and swathed in flannel, 
came out of his tent and mounted his horse. We 
swung to saddle behind him and followed him as 
he rode up and down the lines for a last look at 
the men. They cheered him from end to end and 
back again, and I could not but contrast them 
to that other force with which I had gone to 
battle once before. Here was an army — a unit 
— sure of success, relying upon their commander, 
going eagerly to challenge death. 

He summoned his officers to him, and spoke to 
them a few ringing words that brought the color 
to their cheeks. 


BATTLE 


245 


“ Remember,” he said, “ that the fate of all the 
western country depends upon us this day. If we 
win, the whole northwest is ours. If we lose, hell 
itself will break loose upon our settlements. But 
we cannot lose, so we keep our heads cool. It may 
be,” he added, with a little smile, recalling other 
fields, perhaps, “ that I may become so involved in 
the battle that you cannot find me at every mo- 
ment, but you are to remember that the standing 
order for the day is ‘ Charge the damned scoun- 
drels with the bayonet ! ’ That will do, sirs — I 
rely on you.” 

They saluted, and hurried back to their com- 
mands. The general’s eyes were shining as he 
stopped for a last look at his army. He had 
formed the legion on the right, covered by the 
Maumee ; one brigade of volunteers was on his 
left, under General Todd, and the other in the 
rear, under General Barbee. For the post of dan- 
ger in front, a select battalion of volunteers under 
Major Price had been chosen. They were to draw 
the fire of the enemy, and had been instructed to 
keep well advanced, so that the troops would have 
ample time to form in case of action — for the 
general still hoped that his overtures of peace 
would be accepted. 

“ If they choose war,” he said at last, “ it will 
not be we who regret it. Sound the advance, lieu- 
tenant.” 

Harry raised his hand, and in a moment the 
bugles rang out and we were off, slowly, steadily, 
never for a moment losing our formation, hugging 


246 


THE HERITAGE 


the river that our right might run no risk of being 
flanked. A mile was covered, two miles, three, 
and still no sign of the enemy. The general turned 
in his saddle and beckoned me to him. 

“ How far are we from the place called ‘ fallen 
timbers ’ ? ” he asked. 

“ Not more than a mile, sir,” I answered. 

“ And we are advancing straight for it ? ” 

“Quite straight, sir. We need only keep on 
along the river.” 

“ Good ! ” and he turned again to the contem- 
plation of the ground before him. Another mile 
we went through a fair open wood, and still not 
a shot — only a brooding stillness, broken by the 
tramp of men and the rattle of accoutrements. 
The strain was beginning to tell, and I fancied 
that the advance was a shade less steady. Far 
ahead I could see the tangle of high grass and 
underbrush I so well remembered. 

“ There is the fallen timbers, sir ! ” I cried, and 
the next instant a sheet of flame leaped out along 
our front, a rattle of musket fire ran from right to 
left away into the forest, and I saw Major Price’s 
corps come scampering back in confusion. My 
heart stood still : was history to repeat itself ? But 
not for an instant did the general lose his head. 

With a rush the legion was formed into a double 
line, and the first advanced steadily against the 
enemy, firing as it went. But they stopped after 
a moment ; the fire from the grass grew ever hotter 
and hotter, and it was evident the Indians were 
pushing in our left flank. 


BATTLE 


247 


“ Captain Lewis,” cried the general, “ tell Gen- 
eral Scott to take the whole of the mounted volun- 
teers and turn the right flank of the savages,” and 
Lewis was off among the trees in an instant, to 
carry the good news to that tried old Indian 
fighter. “ Captain Butts, order Captain Campbell 
to advance with his whole force and turn the left 
flank,” and Butts spurred away toward the river. 
“ Lieutenant Harrison, order the first line to ad- 
vance at the double, with trailed arms, and rouse 
the Indians with the bayonet point,” and Harry 
was away toward the front like the wind. The 
orders had been delivered in a breath — then, 
with a new thought, the general turned to me. 
“The front line is to press the savages so they 
cannot reload ; let there be no hanging back,” and 
as I put spur to flank, blessing my luck, he turned 
to hurry up the second line. 

I had almost been too late, for even as I reached 
it, the line sprang up with a cheer and charged 
with bayonets set. I saw Harry in front with half 
a dozen other officers, and tried to reach his side, 
but could not. The next instant there came a blaze 
of fire in front, the line wavered for an instant, 
and then kept on. Now I was up with them, and 
just ahead, through the smoke, I. could see the 
Indians swarming from their ambush. 

“ Fire ! ” I screamed. “ Fire ! ” 

It needed no command of mine. Each man 
seemed to know just what to do, and the fire ran 
down the line ; then forward again, over the con- 
fused trunks, through the tangled branches and 


248 


THE HERITAGE 


tall grass. There was no chance for a horse, so 
I leaped from the saddle and sprang after them. 
Ahead I saw Harry, also afoot, still leading the 
line. I set my teeth and ran toward him as fast 
as my legs would carry me. He turned as I came 
pounding up, and smiled at me with flashing eyes. 

“ Glorious ! ” he cried. “ Glorious ! ” 

“We are to keep up the pursuit,” I panted. 

He nodded. 

“ They know it,” he said, and glanced behind 
him to make sure the men were following. We 
had begun to come upon the Indian dead, and 
ahead through the jungle I caught a glimpse now 
and then of a wounded man hobbling along pain- 
fully. We came up with them one by one, and 
they got short shrift, for there was no thought 
of taking prisoners, nor, indeed, would they, flght- 
ing to the last, permit themselves to be taken. 
Two miles or more we drove them, and at last we 
came to the edge of the wood and saw the walls 
of the British fort before us. The savages were 
thronged about it, apparently relying upon its pro- 
tection. 

“ What now ? ” I asked. “ Shall we march 
against the fort ? ” 

Harry stopped, perplexed. 

“ Here come the other officers,” he said. “ They 
must decide.” 

Right and left from where they had led the line 
they hurried together; but the decision did not 
lie with us, for suddenly along the river to the 
right the legion’s cavalry spurred, rank on rank. 


BATTLE 


249 


Plainly they had their orders, for never faltering 
or drawing rein, on they went toward the fort. 
For a moment I held my breath as I waited for 
the guns to thunder out. But they stayed dark 
and silent, while the savages, after hammering 
vainly at the gates, fled away toward the woods be- 
yond, in a desperate effort to escape. Under the 
very guns of the fort the cavalry spurred after them, 
riding them down, cutting them to pieces ; and still 
the British made no sign. Yes, and from that mo- 
ment their power with the Indians was gone for- 
ever ; for the latter knew, as they had never known 
before, how empty were the promises of aid and 
protection which had been so freely given. 

“ God ! ” said Harry, drawing a deep breath, 
“ what a sight ! ’’ 

But my eyes were caught by another spectacle. 
From the woods at our left an Indian was stum- 
bling, as though wounded, routed out by the second 
line, just coming up. He stopped as he saw the 
cavalry ahead of him, then turned and doubled 
toward us. Half a dozen muskets leaped to shoul- 
der, but I was before them and sprang toward the 
fugitive with open arms. He stopped as. he saw 
me coming, and raised his hatchet. 

“ Big Cat ! ” I cried. “ Big Cat, it is I, Lay- 
law-she. Surrender to me I You must I You can- 
not escape ! ” 

He glanced past me to the troops who were 
pouring after, then flung his hatchet far away, 
and awaited me with folded arms. 

“ He is my captive ! ” I cried, as they swarmed 


250 


THE HERITAGE 


about us. “ My captive ! ” and I threw myself 
before him. “ Harry, help me — this is Big Cat, 
my friend ! ” 

“ They shan’t harm him ! ” he cried, his eyes 
blazing. “ Let any of them touch him ! Let any 
of them dare touch him ! ” 

They fell back at the sight of him standing 
there, sword in hand. I heard the clatter of hoofs 
and a sharp voice asking the cause of the disturb- 
ance. 

“ Stewart here has taken captive the Indian who 
befriended him,” cried Harry. “We are trying 
to save him from these madmen, sir.” 

The general, for it was he, leaned from the sad- 
dle and looked down at us. 

“ And saved he shall be ! ” he cried. “ Captain 
Smith, detach a guard of twenty men and take 
him to the rear. You shall answer to me for his 
safety.” 

“ Very well, sir,” said the captain, and in a mo- 
ment, to my great relief. Big Cat was marched 
away in the midst of his guards. 

“ A glorious day, gentlemen,” went on the gen- 
eral, as we gathered about. “ The greatest defeat, 
I think, the savages have ever had — it could not 
have been completer — and not half our force en- 
gaged. Neither the second line nor the volunteers 
got a smell of the action.” 

I felt a hand in mine and turned to find Fred- 
eric standing there. He had been with the line 
away to the left and quite out of sight. 

“ Not wounded ? ” he asked. 


BATTLE 


251 


“ Not a scratch. And you ? ’’ 

“ Only a scratch,” and he showed me where a 
ball had stripped the flesh from the side of his left 
hand. 

It was an ugly wound, and Harry saw it, too, as 
he held it up. 

“ Let me attend to it, Frederic,” he said quickly. 
“ I almost became a surgeon, you know, and am 
anxious to make use of the little knowledge I have 
of the art,” and he bandaged the hurt with deft 
fingers, while Frederic watched him with a little 
quizzical smile. 

“ I don’t think it will kill me,” he laughed. 
“ Luckily, ’t was not my sword hand.” 

The cavalry was called back from the pursuit, 
and we were sent to order up the camp-guard with 
the tents, for the general had determined to pitch 
camp at the edge of the wood, within plain sight 
of the British fort and not above half a mile from 
it. Everywhere about us were the Indian dead, 
and more than one white man we saw, too, Cana- 
dian militia, as we learned afterwards — Indians 
and whites alike armed with British muskets. 

In Harry’s tent we found Big Cat sitting, with 
the guard still about him. We dismissed the^ 
guard, giving Captain Smith, who was in no mind 
to risk the general’s displeasure, a receipt for the 
prisoner. Then we turned our attention to his 
wound. It was not a severe one, a ball having 
passed through the fleshy part of his thigh, and he 
evidently regarded it as of no moment, though 
Harry insisted upon dressing it. 


252 


THE HERITAGE 


“ I don’t believe it will give him much trouble,” 
he said, when he had finished. “What are we 
going to do with him ? ” 

“ I should like to let him go,” I said. “ Do you 
suppose the general would consent ? ” 

“ I can soon find out,” said Harry, and off he 
went, eager, as always, to do a generous action. 
He was soon back. “The general says we may 
release him,” he reported, “ if we choose.” 

“ Big Cat,” I said in the Delaware, “ our Gen- 
eral who never sleeps tells us that we may release 
you — that you may go back, unharmed, to your 
own people. Will you go now? ” 

“ Yes,” he said, and rose to his feet. He stood 
with folded arms for a moment and looked at me. 
“ And Lay-law-she ? ” he asked at last. 

“ Lay-law-she must stay here with his people,” 
I answered. 

“You have lived long with me,” he said. “We 
have hunted together and fished together. You 
called me once your second father.” 

“ And so you have been. Big Cat.” 

“ So I tried to be — I tried to get you a woman, 
but you would not have her. I am sorry, for then 
your heart might have been with us. Now it is 
with your kin across the Big River and the moun- 
tains.” 

“ Yes,” I said, “ it is with them. Big Cat,” and 
my eyes grew wet as I looked at him and thought 
of our life together. 

“ It is well,” he said. “ But — I have no son — 
I had learned to lean on you as on a staff — I had 


BATTLE 


253 


hoped to do so in my old age — now the staff is 
broken ! ” 

I could find no word of answer. The wilderness 
was calling me — the wild life, the free life ! Had 
a wife been calling, too, I know not how I should 
have answered. But Harry took my hand in his 
and drew me to him, and together we watched my 
second father as he walked slowly away and dis- 
appeared in the forest. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


AN EXCHANGE OF COURTESIES 

There was work to be done — work hateful 
enough to most of us, and to none more so than 
the general, but imperative by the nature of fron- 
tier warfare and the character of our foes, who 
judged mercy to be always cowardice — broad 
fields of corn to be destroyed, houses to be burnt, 
whole villages laid waste. The Indians must be 
taught a bitter lesson that they could never forget 
— taught to fear the iron hand of the United 
States, and, more important still, that an alliance 
with the British could not save them. So we went 
forth with torch and axe and knife. And first of 
all, we set in flames the storehouse of McKee, the 
Indian agent, who had done so much to bring this 
war about. He could gnaw his nails now, as he 
watched it from the walls of the fort — yes, and 
saw the houses of the other traders turn to ashes 
with it. Then across the river we went, in a 
fleet of Indian boats, and when night fell, the 
cabins there were blazing redly against the 
heavens. 

At dawn, the work commenced again, Frederic, 
Harry, and I being detached together by the gen- 
eral’s thoughtfulness. We were watching the men 


AN EXCHANGE OF COURTESIES 


255 


at work on the last of the cabins along the river, 
when Harry looked around with a little exclama- 
tion. 

“ See there,” he said, and pointed back toward 
the fort. 

The gate had been opened and through it came 
a man in British uniform — an officer by the lace 
and sword — bearing a white flag. , 

“ A flag of truce,” said Frederic, and we waited 
where we were as he walked steadily toward us, 
stopping only when he was within easy speaking 
distance. 

“I bear a message for General Wayne,” he 
said. 

“We will take you to headquarters,” said Harry, 
judging that no harm could come from an enemy’s 
inspection of our ordered camp, and at the word, 
the messenger fell in behind us. It was a short 
walk, and we found the general in his tent, still 
suffering with the gout, and in no cheerful humor. 
“ A flag from the British, sir,” said Harry, and 
introduced the messenger. 

The general tore open the note with nervous 
fingers and I saw a cloud gather on his brow as he 
read it. 

“I shall send your commander an immediate 
answer, sir,” he said to the messenger. “ Conduct 
him back through the lines. Lieutenant Harrison. 
Captain Eohlman and Lieutenant Randolph will 
remain here.” 

He read the message through a second time 
more carefully after they had gone, and his eyes 


256 


THE HERITAGE 


were gleaming as I had seen them the hour before 
the battle. 

“This is insufferable impudence,” he snorted. 
“ You shaU judge, gentlemen. Listen.” And he 
read the message, a copy of which I have before 
me now : — 

Miamis River, lAugust 21, 1794. 

Sir, — An army of the United States of Amer- 
ica, said to be under your command, having taken 
posts on the banks of the Miamis, for upwards of 
the last twenty-four hours, almost within reach of 
the guns of this fort, being a post belonging to 
His Majesty the King of Great Britain, occupied 
by His Majesty’s troops, and which I have the 
honor to command, it becomes me to inform my- 
self as speedily as possible, in what light I am to 
view your making such near approaches to this 
garrison. 

I have no hesitation on my part to say that I 
know of no war existing between Great Britain 
and America. 

I have the honor to be, etc., 

William Campbell, 
Major 2^th Regiment^ commanding 
a British Post on the Banks of the 
Miamis. 

To Major General Wayne, etc., etc. 

“ A British post ! ” the general repeated. 
“ What think you of that ? A British post, on 
United States soil! There are pen and paper, 
lieutenant. Will you write for me ? My hand is 


AN EXCHANGE OF COURTESIES 


257 


so drawn with this cursed gout I cannot hold a 
pen. 

I sat down at the table and wrote to his dicta- 
tion : — 

Camp on the Banes of the Miamis 
August 21, 1794. 

Sir, — I have received your letter of this date, 
requiring from me the motives which have moved 
the army under my command to the position they 
at present occupy, far within the acknowledged 
jurisdiction of the United States of America. 

Without questioning the authority or propriety, 
sir, of your interrogatory, I think I may, without 
breach of decorum, observe to you that were you 
entitled to an answer, the most full and satisfactory 
one was announced to you from the muzzles of my 
small arms yesterday morning in the action against 
hordes of savages in the vicinity of your fort, 
which terminated gloriously to the American arms. 
But had it continued until the Indians, etc., were 
driven under the influence of the post and guns 
you mention, they would not have much impeded 
the progress of the victorious army under my com- 
mand ; as no such post was established at the com- 
mencement of the present war between the Indians 
and the United States. 

I have the honor to be sir, etc. 

“ Let me have it,” he said, and read it over. 
“ That will do very well, I think — ’t will certainly 
leave no doubt of my meaning. That hint that 
we routed other than Indians in the, battle is to 


258 


THE HERITAGE 


the point. Now hold the pen in my hand, sir,’^ 
and he signed it, — 

Anthony Wayne, 
Major-General and Commander-in-Chief 
of the Federal Army. 

“ Address it to Campbell,” he said. “ Now seal 
it. There. I wish you two gentlemen to be my 
envoys. Deliver the note only to the comman- 
dant.” 

We went out with it, I, at least, in a very fever 
of excitement ; for I did not doubt that the Brit- 
ish commander would take up this challenge. Some 
wind of the matter had got through the camp, and 
the men crowded about us, cheering, eager to be 
sent even against the guns of the fort. When we 
had passed the lines, Frederic tied his handker- 
chief to his sword, and with it over his shoulder, 
we advanced to the fort. They were evidently 
expecting us, for a wicket in the gate was pushed 
back as we approached, and a face within de- 
manded our business. 

“We have a message for the commandant,” I 
said, “from General Wayne.” 

“ Very well, pass it up,” and the sentry held 
out his hand. 

“We will deliver it only to the commandant — 
such were our instructions.” 

He held a hasty consultation with some one 
within. 

“You may enter the fort only with bandaged 
eyes,” he said after a moment. 


AN EXCHANGE OF COURTESIES 


259 


“ Then we will not enter at all ! ” cried Frederic, 
and turned on his heel, I with him. 

“ Wait a minute ! ” called the sentinel after us. 
“ Don’t be so cursed hasty. I ’ll send word to the 
commandant that you are here.” 

“ Very well,” said Frederic. “ You would have 
saved time by doing that in the first place.” 

The sentry slammed the wicket shut, and we 
heard him walk quickly away. After some mo- 
ments there came a great lifting of bars, and the 
gate swung open. A file of soldiers stood within. 

“ Enter,” said their officer, and they closed 
about us so soon as we were through the gate, 
shutting off view of the fort’s interior almost as 
completely as though we had been blindfolded. 
They led us to a bastion at one corner, in the lower 
room of which Major Campbell was sitting, with 
three or four other officers^about him. 

“ Well, gentlemen? ” he began. 

“A note from General Wayne for you, sir,” I 
said, and handed it to him. 

He tore it open, and the hot blood mounted to 
his cheeks as he read it. 

“ In God’s name ! ” he cried. “ What think 
you of this, Major Lee ? ” 

Lee held out his hand to take the note. 

I saw Frederic start, and examine him with 
blazing eyes. 

Lee flushed as Campbell had when he read the 
general’s message. 

“ The impudent beggars ! ” he cried. “ If you 
ask my advice, major, I would say shoot them 
down the minute they come within gun-range ! ” 


260 


THE HERITAGE 


Campbell opened his lips reply, then remem- 
bered our presence, and shut them again. 

“ That will do, gentlemen,” he said to us. “ I 
shall answer this insult as it deserves.” 

But Frederic stepped forward toward the other 
man with a face whose set whiteness startled me. 

“ I believe you were addressed as Major Lee ? ” 
he asked in a voice he tried in vain to steady. 

The other looked at him in astonishment. 

“ Yes ; what of it ? ” he snapped. 

“ You were, I believe, in Charleston at the time 
of its capture by the British ? ” 

“ Yes,” he answered ; “ and again what of it ? ” 
“ There is this of it,” said Frederic, still in the 
same low voice trembling with emotion “ I, here 
and now, in the presence of these gentlemen, brand 
you as a liar, a coward, and a murderer — a thing 
unfit to be called a man ! ” 

There was a moment’s ominous and astounded 
silence, then Lee got slowly to his feet. 

“ I do not know you, sir,” he said, “ nor do I 
wish to know you ; but you are, of course, aware 
that words such as these must be answered for.” 

“ I am quite aware of it,” said Frederic, his eyes 
blazing in triumph. “ Lieutenant Kandolph, wiU 
you act as my second ? ” 

I had been so dazed with the suddenness of it 
all that I but this instant found my tongue. 

“ My dear Frederic,” I began. 

“ Will you act as my second ? ” he demanded, 
again, with a fiercer gleam in his eyes than I had 
ever seen him turn on me. 


AN EXCHANGE OF COURTESIES 261 

“ Certainly,” I said. “ Who else but I ? ” 

But Major Campbell had also found his tongue, 

“ Damn my soul ! ” he roared. “ What do you 
mean, sir, by coming here to insult my officers? ” 

“ I mean merely,” answered Frederic quietly, 
“ that I seek the opportunity of crossing swords 
with one of them.” 

“ W ell, you have chosen the wrong one ! ” cried 
Campbell with a laugh. “ Take my advice and 
apologize, my young cockerel, or your crowing 
will soon be over. I ’ll countenance no such 
slaughter.” 

Frederic’s eyes were blazing again, and quick as 
a flash he stepped up to Lee and struck him fairly 
with his open hand across the mouth. 

“ Will you now ? ” he demanded. 

I thought for a breath that the battle would be 
fought out then and there, for Lee, with a cry of 
rage, whipped out his sword. But some one struck 
it up, and in an instant Campbell had sprung be- 
tween the two. 

“ On your own head, you fool ! ” he cried to 
Frederic. “ Major Lee has my full permission to 
avenge this insult. There will be, at least, one 
impudent American the less ! ” 

Frederic turned away to the corner without an- 
swering, and it took me but a moment to arrange 
the details with a Captain Foulke, whom Lee 
named to represent him. The meeting, it was 
agreed, should take place at sunrise at a level spot 
near the river just below the fort. Swords were 
to be the weapons, and the combat was to be 


262 


THE HERITAGE 


a routrance. This was the only stipulation Fred- 
eric made, and Lee agreed to it at once. 

It was not until we were in the open air with 
our lines before us that I found time to be aston- 
ished ; and then, when I would have spoken, there 
was such a light of joy and triumph on my com- 
panion’s face that my words of question and protest 
died unuttered on my lips — such a light of joy 
and triumph as I had never seen. He seemed 
transfigured; outside the world, not heeding it. 
So, in silence, we came to the general’s tent, and 
I made report of the result of our embassage. 

The general turned purple ere I had got midway. 

“ Shoot us down, will they ? ” he shouted. “ By 
Heaven, we ’ll see ! Help me on with my frock, 
gentlemen. Bring our horses, there ! ” 

He was out of his tent like a whirlwind, his 
illness quite forgotten. A troop of dragoons was 
ordered out, and we mounted and clattered away 
after him. When we came out into the clearing 
about the fort, he wheeled us into line, and we 
trotted forward to within a hundred yards of it. 
Within we could hear the drums beating ; the red 
coats of the gunners gleamed behind their pieces ; 
here and there torches sprang alight. 

“ My staff will follow me,” called the general, 
and cantered his horse on toward the nearest bas- 
tion, Harry, Butts, and I behind him. Yard after 
yard we went until forty had been covered. Then 
he stopped, and coolly surveyed the fortress just 
ahead. 

I confess that what I saw there did not tend to 


AN EXCHANGE OF COURTESIES 


263 


make my seat in the saddle any easier. The can- 
non had been brought to a recover, and over them 
leaned the gunners, torch in hand, ready to fire. 
The guns loomed dark and threatening, and at any 
instant, I thought, might burst forth with flame. 
It was Harry who dared to interfere. 

“ You are risking certain death here, sir,” he 
protested, but the general smiled and shook his 
head. 

“ They dare not fire,” he said. 

We heard the clatter of hoofs behind us, and in 
a moment General Wilkinson and his staff rattled 
up at a hand-gallop. 

“ What are you doing here, sir ? ” he cried in 
deep concern for the general’s safety. 

“ Making the British eat their words,” retorted 
the latter dryly ; and indeed it was true, for two 
officers suddenly appeared on the bastion and 
caught aw^ the torches from the gunners. “You 
see, we are quite safe,” he added, “ and may exam- 
ine the fort at our leisure.” He sat for some mo- 
ments looking at it, then turned his horse, and rode 
slowly away. 

This demonstration drew a vigorous protest from 
Major Campbell, who claimed that we had insulted 
the British flag. The general replied with a pep- 
pery note, requiring the instant withdrawal of the 
British from territory belonging to the United 
States, and had the fort thoroughly examined. 
But we found no cause to assault it, for the garri- 
son made no offensive movement, even though the 
general ordered everything burnt and destroyed 


264 


THE HERITAGE 


right up to the muzzles of the cannon ; nor was the 
general himself prepared to enforce his demand 
for their withdrawal, since we had no heavy guns, 
and an attempt to storm would have meant the 
loss of many lives. 

When we got back to headquarters after this 
demonstration, we found Frederic awaiting us 
there, and he asked the general for a word in 
private. 

“ I should like my two friends for witnesses,” 
he added. The general assented, evidently won- 
dering at the seriousness of his tone, and Harry 
and I followed them into the tent. 

“ I believe, sir, that we have accomplished the 
great purpose of this expedition,” began Frederic. 

“ Why, yes,” said the general ; “ we have de- 
feated the Indians.” 

“ I take it then, sir, that a man may resign from 
the service without disgrace ? ” . 

“ Why, yes ; I suppose so.” 

“ Then, sir, I wish to tender you my resignation, 
to take effect at once.” 

We were staring at him in astonishment, but 
the general soon got his breath. 

“ What is the meaning of this — ha ! — ex- 
traordinary action, sir ? ” he demanded. “ I must 
have a reason — and a mighty good one, sir ! ” 

“ The reason, sir, is that I am to meet Major 
Lee, of the British army, at sunrise to-morrow.” 

The general fell back in his chair and glared at 
him with open mouth. 

“ A duel ? ” he cried. 


AN EXCHANGE OF COURTESIES 


265 


“ A duel, sir ; a Voutrancey 
“ Why, damn it, sir, when could a challenge 
pass ? ” 

“ It passed at the fort, sir ; Lieutenant Kandolph 
acted for me, at my request.” 

“ And who was the aggressor ? ” 

“ I was, sir ; Major Lee has done me a deadly 
wrong which demands this satisfaction.” 

“ But, sir,” roared the general, “ you have vio- 
lated one of the laws of war I I send two envoys 
to the enemy and they take advantage of it to 
issue a challenge! I never knew the like! In 
justice, I should order you in irons ! ” 

“ I must take my revenge when I can find it,” 
answered Frederic quietly. “ I have waited for 
it patiently many years. I would rather burn in 
hell than let this man escape.” 

There was a depth of passion in his voice that 
compelled attention, and the general sat for some 
moments without speaking, looking at him. Per- 
haps he saw in his face what I had already seen 
there — the joy a strong man feels when he has 
achieved the utmost purpose of his life — perhaps 
the act appealed to his own great love of gallantry. 

“ Do not be too certain of success,” he said at 
last. “ What are the weapons ? ” 

“ Swords, sir.” 

“ These British officers are very devils at fence.” 
“ I was the pupil for three years, sir, of the best 
swordsman in Paris — M. le Viscomte de Malartie. 
In our last bout, I touched him thrice and he got 
home but once.” 


266 


THE HERITAGE 


Again the general looked at him, then rose 
painfully from his chair and hobbled to a corner 
of the tent. In a moment he was back with a 
long case in his hands. 

“ Captain Rohlman,” he said, “ I refuse to ac- 
cept your resignation. As your commander, I 
know nothing of this meeting. But, confound 
it, sir, as a soldier and man of honor, I admire 
you ! Here is a pair of small-swords, the finest I 
ever saw — General Lafayette gave them to me. 
Take them, sir, with my best wishes ! ” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


VENGEANCE 

The mist lay white along the river as Harry, 
Frederic, and I left our quarters in the early dawn. 
Harry was to be the other second, and — horrible 
addition ! — his knowledge of surgery might also 
prove of value. I carried under my arm the case 
with the general’s swords, and I knew that the 
package in Harry’s hand contained lint and ban- 
dages which he himself had prepared. We gave 
the countersign, and the sentry passed us without 
question, thinking, perhaps, that we were going 
for an early bath. 

The sun had not yet risen and the world lay 
still and cool in the dim light flushing the eastward 
sky. Here and there, a bird, just waking, was 
cheeping sleepily among the trees ; silvery cobwebs, 
wrought in the night, hung across our path, heavy 
with dew. We turned toward the river bank and 
struck into the trail that ran along it, past the 
wood, and so to the clearing about the British fort. 
Just beyond it, not twenty feet from the water, lay 
a level meadow, some hundred yards across, and 
to this I led the way. 

“ This is the place,” I said. 

“ A splendid ground,” said Frederic, and went 


268 


THE HERITAGE 


carefully over it to make sure there was no rock 
or hidden hole. 

We watched him in silence. To me, at least, 
this was not the one that I had known and loved, 
boy and man ; he seemed no longer a poor thing 
of flesh and blood — rather an irresistible element, 
which fate itself could not turn aside. More than 
once, during the previous evening, had I attempted 
to discuss with him the outcome of the meeting, 
but each time he had silenced me with the calm 
assertion that only one outcome was possible. And 
in the end, I had come to share in some degree 
this supreme self-confidence. 

He came back at last from the circuit of the 
field, satisfied with his inspection of it, and glanced 
impatiently toward the fort. 

“ There comes the sun,” he said. 

“ And there come the British ! ” added Harry. 
“Prompt to the minute.” 

The gate of the fort swung open and three men 
came through. They saw us in a moment and 
walked rapidly toward us, their uniforms look- 
ing very bright and handsome. At the edge of 
the meadow. Major Lee stopped, and his seconds 
came forward alone. I introduced Harry to them 
and was in turn presented by Captain Foulke to 
his companion. Captain Kadnor. 

“ The preliminaries need not take us long,” said 
Foulke, when this ceremony was ended. “ You 
understand, gentlemen, that at the express desire 
of your principal, the combat is to be a Vovr 
trance^'* 


VENGEANCE 


269 


“Yes,” I said. “We understand that.” 

“We have a pair of swords here which may 
commend themselves to you,” he added, opening a 
case which he had brought with him. 

“We also have a pair,” and I handed them to 
him. 

He raised his eyebrows with a little air of as- 
tonishment as he examined them. 

“ Why, these are gems — real gems ! Just look 
at them, Radnor. We may as well put ours away 
again.” 

Radnor tested them as his friend had done, and 
gave a little whistle of enthusiasm. 

“ Right you are, Foulke,” he said. “ Shut ours 
up. This is as fine a pair as ever came out of 
France.” 

They measured them point and hilt, — “ Right 
to a hair,” said Radnor, — and the case was placed 
in the middle of the field. Major Lee, doffing 
frock and waistcoat, walked to the case and picked 
one up at random, though I could see his start of 
surprise when he found it was not his. He bent 
it to left and right, poised it in his hand, and cast 
a little questioning glance at Frederic. 

“We are all ready, I believe, gentlemen,” said 
Foulke, as Frederic, stripped to his shirt, picked 
up the other sword, and I removed the case. 

“ I am quite ready,” said Major Lee, and took 
his place. 

“And I ask but a moment’s patience,” said 
Frederic. “ I wish to offer Major Lee a word of 
explanation.” 


270 


THE HERITAGE 


I saw the faintest shadow of a smile dart across 
the lips of the seconds, and Lee shrugged his 
shoulders disdainfully. 

Frederic’s cheeks grew crimson and his eyes 
blazed, as he saw the gesture. 

“ You may, perhaps, have wondered. Major 
Lee,” he continued in a voice deep with passion, 
“ why I was so set upon this meeting.” 

“ Not at all,” answered Lee insolently. “ I 
have met fools and madmen before this.” 

“Let me assure you that I am neither,” said 
Frederic more calmly. “ This meeting has been 
the one dream and desire of my life since I was a 
boy of twelve. Night and morning, every day 
since then, I have prayed God that He might per- 
mit me to stand before you one day sword in 
hand. That prayer, you see, is granted.” 

Lee was staring at him with astonished eyes, 
perhaps thinking him really mad. 

“ But that was not all the prayer — I asked, too, 
that I might be permitted to kiU you, and I am 
quite sure that will be granted also.” 

Lee shrugged his shoulders with a gesture of 
disdain. 

“ I put my faith in skill and strength of wrist, 
sir,” he said. “ You are quite welcome to your 
prayers.” 

“Nevertheless,” persisted Frederic, “ I wish you 
to know to whom the end is due. My revenge 
were incomplete without it. My name, doubtless, 
recalled no memory to you ? ” 

“ In faith, no,” sneered Lee. “ I made no in- 


VENGEANCE 


271 


quiries about your name — it may have been re- 
peated to me, but I did not heed it.” 

“ It may have repaid you to heed it, sir,” and 
Frederic’s voice began to tremble under the in- 
sults of the other. “ It is Frederic Rohlman, and 
I am the son of that Gerhart Kohlman who was 
hanged one morning many years ago, on a prison 
ship in Charleston harbor, having been betrayed 
by the man he had befriended — who, I repeat, is 
a liar, coward, and murderer ! His name, at that 
time, was J onas Morgan ; it seems he has changed 
it since.” 

Lee took the blow fairly in the face, and took it 
well. 

“ I am ready to answer with my sword for any 
deed of mine,” he said, evenly and calmly. “ But 
I have no wish to kill you, sir, as I shall inevitably 
do if you persist in this folly. A word of apology 
and I release you. Remember, all is fair in war.” 

“ I am ready, sir,” was Frederic’s only answer, 
and he stood on guard. 

From the first instant of the combat, it was evi- 
dent that Lee had good reason for his confidence. 
Not even in Malartie’s hand could that perfect 
blade have been more light, more swift, more sub- 
tle. Thinking, doubtless, to end it in a moment, 
he made a terrific assault, which Frederic, un- 
steadied by his emotion, was unable to withstand. 
He gave back a step, and I saw a line of blood 
spring across his shirt, low on the left side. Foulke 
saw it, too, and in an instant had struck up the 
swords and exchanged a word with his principal. 


272 


THE HERITAGE 


“ Major Lee instructs me to say, sir,” he began, 
“that he is quite satisfied, and trusts that you 
will see the wisdom of not pressing the combat 
further.” 

“ But I am not satisfied ! ” cried Frederic. “ I 
do insist. Go back, sirs ! ” he added to Harry 
and me. “ This is but a scratch — but a graze on 
the skin ! ” and he pulled his belt more tightly 
about him. 

“ As you will,” said Foulke. “ But I warn 
you, sir, that this offer of mercy will not be re- 
peated.” 

“ I am sure of it,” said Frederic, in a voice full 
of meaning, and saluted his antagonist. 

Lee tried again the tactics of his first attack — 
the furious assault, the feint in tierce^ the light- 
ning thrust in Jlanconade — but Frederic’s blade 
seemed a veritable wall of steel before him, and in 
the end it was Lee who broke. And now it was 
Frederic’s turn — he gave the other no chance for 
a breathing spell, but was upon him in an instant 
— une^ deux^ trois. Malartie had taught him 
well, but Lee’s blade found his always by a kind 
of marvelous instinct and turned it harmlessly 
aside. The honors, this far, were plainly with the 
Englishman, but Frederic had one great advantage 
which no skill or training could outweigh — he 
had youth and health and twenty years of right- 
eous living behind him, while Lee — was a man 
of the world. So I saw that soon his face was 
growing purple, his breath irregular. Youth and 
strength were telling, as they always must. Lee 


VENGEANCE 


273 


saw this and tried to save himself by playing care- 
fully, by assuming only the defensive, but Frederic 
seemed a man of steel, tireless, certain. To such 
a contest there could be but one conclusion, and it 
came soon and swiftly. For the merest fraction 
of a second, Lee’s point, thrown aside by a vigor- 
ous parade, left his breast uncovered, and Fred- 
eric, with a full longe^ sent his blade home. Lee 
stood for an instant motionless, tense, with staring 
eyes ; then raising himself on tiptoe in a convul- 
sive and desperate effort to keep his feet, dropped 
his sword and fell forward, coughing, upon his 
face. 

“ So is God justified ! ” said Frederic, and 
throwing his sword from him, stood looking down 
upon the prostrate man. 

They turned him over hastily to find his eyes 
set and his lips flecked with blood. 

“ He still breathes,” said Foulke, noting a con- 
vulsive movement of the chest. “ Come, we must 
hurry him to the fort, Radnor. My compliments, 
sir,” he 9,dded to Frederic. “You are a clever 
swordsman. Perhaps you will honor me with a 
meeting ? ” 

“ You nor no man, sir ! ” cried Frederic. “ I 
have fought my fight.” 

They looked at him for a moment curiously, 
then took their friend up carefully and bore him 
away toward the fort. We stood watching them 
until the gate shut behind them. 

“ And now, Harry,” said Frederic, “ I think I 
shall ask you to look at this scratch of mine.” 


274 


THE HERITAGE 


I was wiping the swords and putting them back 
into the case, but the hoarseness of his tone 
brought me to my feet. 

“ Frederic ! ” I cried, springing toward him. 
He stood for an instant with set lips and eyes still 
smiling, then swayed gently forward toward me 
and sank into my arms. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


WE START ON A LONG JOURNEY 

A SCRATCH, indeed ! The sword had pierced 
his side just above the bone of the hip, and had 
gone clear through. He had pulled his belt tight 
over the wound and so stopped somewhat the flow 
of blood, but in the last moments of the combat it 
had broken out afresh and shirt and smaU-clothes 
were soaked with it. Thank Heaven, Harry kept 
his head better than I, or Frederic might have bled 
to death lying there, from sheer lack of aid. He 
tore away the clothing ; sent me to the river for 
water, which I brought in my hat for want of 
something better ; washed the wound carefully 
and tenderly, stopped it with lint, and tied a band- 
age tightly about it with an admirable deftness. 

“ There,” he said at last, with a sigh of relief. 
“ I think that will do until some better surgeon 
can attend him. I never thought my little know- 
ledge of the art would be so useful.” 

I brought more water and Harry bathed the 
still face until the eyes opened and looked up at 
us, blankly at first, then with remembrance of 
time and place. 

“ Is it very bad?^’ he asked. 

“ Why, no,” answered Harry with a cheerful- 


276 


THE HERITAGE 


ness I was far from feeling. “ Only a flesh wound 
which will lay you up for a few days, until it 
closes and you get your strength again. You 
fainted from loss of blood, that is all. You would 
have been all right had you permitted us to attend 
to it at once.” 

“ I feared you would take my sword from me,” 
said Frederic with a smile. “ I could run no 
chance of that, you know. Now we must get back 
to camp.” 

“ Yes,” assented Harry, “ but you are not going 
to walk a step of the way, sir. Stewart, if you 
would bring a litter ” — 

“ Nonsense ! ” protested Frederic, “ and have 
this affair noised all through the camp ! I won’t 
have it ! ” and he tried to rise. 

“Don’t do that,” pleaded Harry, holding him 
down. “ You ’ll open the wound again. Only be 
still and I ’ll find some other way.” 

Frederic lay back obediently enough, doubtless 
finding himself weaker than he had thought, while 
Harry sat with knitted brows looking at him. I 
looked at him, too, but without the poWer of con- 
nected thought. 

“ I have it,” said Harry at last. “We must 
take a little risk, but not much. Stewart, go up 
to the landing and bring down a boat — one with 
a broad seat.” 

I hurried away, without pausing to question 
him, and soon ran the boat up on the bank oppo- 
site them. 

“ Now,” said Harry, “ we must get him into it. 


WE START ON A LONG JOURNEY 277 


Put your arm under his shoulders — so. Now lift 
him up — carefully.” 

He had his arms about him also, and between 
us we got him to his feet. Frederic was smiling 
at our concern for him and protested that he was 
quite able to walk to the boat without assistance. 

“ Yes, and bleed to death after you get there,” 
retorted Harry. “ No, no, my boy — not a bit 
of it.” 

We got him settled in the seat at last, with 
Harry beside him with an arm about him. I 
shoved off, took the oars, and rowed slowly up the 
river. 

“ This will take us quite near the camp,” said 
Harry. “ And we must trust him to walk the rest 
of the way without injury. I will help you on 
with your frock, Frederic, so that all this blood 
will not show.” 

The half mile was soon covered, and we found 
the camp astir from end to end as we came oppo- 
site it. Already a party had started out to com- 
plete the destruction begun the day before. The 
sentry let us pass without question, only looking 
curiously at Fredericks pale face and doubtless 
drawing his own conclusions from it. But we 
made our way to our tent without further en- 
counter, and soon had Frederic stripped, bathed, 
and clothed anew, and snugly at rest on a cot. 

“ You would better go report to the general, 
Stewart,” said Harry, and off I went, taking the 
case of swords with me. 

The general glanced up quickly as I entered. 


278 


THE HERITAGE 


Something in my face seemed to reassure him, and 
he motioned me to wait while he concluded some 
instructions he was giving Captain Butts. When 
we were alone together, he wheeled sharply round 
upon me. 

“Well?” he asked. 

“ Both swords found a sheath, sir,” I said, 
“only the one that Frederic held found the 
deeper one.” 

“ Tell me about it,” he commanded. “ No 
evasions.” 

So I told him as clearly and simply as I could, 
not omitting the cause of the quarrel, and he heard 
me, sitting quite still at his table till I had ended. 

“’Twas well done,” he said, drawing a deep 
breath. “ I am glad the British should be taught 
this lesson, since it is not permitted me to teach 
them a more severe one. They think us boors, 
you know ; and a little taste of good swordsman- 
ship may awaken them somewhat. I shall call 
upon Captain Rohlman this afternoon,” and call 
he did, speaking some few words to him that made 
him flush with pleasure. 

But neither Harry nor I was permitted to loiter 
at his bedside, for there was much to do. All up 
and down the river, houses were burned and great 
fields of grain destroyed, until, when evening fell, 
only smoking ruins remained. It was nearly dark 
when Harry and I, having crossed from the far- 
ther shore, ordered the destruction of the last of the 
the boats. That done, we walked slowly back to- 
ward the camp, when suddenly from the fort there 


WE START ON A LONG JOURNEY 279 


came a ruffle of drums followed by a volley of mus- 
ketry. We stopped short, looking at each other. 

“ So Frederic is avenged ! ” said Harry at last, 
and we went on toward the camp. 

Our work at the rapids was done. We had 
heard nothing from the Indians, and it was evident 
they had suffered too severely to risk another 
battle. So, early the next morning, the whole force 
was paraded and general orders read to take up 
the line of march back to Camp Deposit ; but first 
we paid the honors of war to the thirty men who 
had fallen on the field, by a discharge of three 
rounds from sixteen pieces of ordnance charged 
with shells. That done, we wheeled into line and 
started on the backward trail. 

Frederic’s wound had been re-dressed early in 
the morning by Doctor Hayward, who found it 
doing nicely, and who made a place for him in a 
wagon with some other wounded — we had over a 
hundred of them to carry back with us. We 
reached Camp Deposit toward mid-afternoon, and 
found our heavy baggage undisturbed. By the 
next day, Frederic was so much improved that he 
could go on horseback, and so grew stronger every 
day as we proceeded slowly up the river, burning 
the houses and destroying the crops as we went, 
the whole army living royally on the corn, pota- 
toes, beans, and other vegetables taken from the 
fields. Four days later, in the midst of a heavy 
rain, we marched again into Fort Defiance, leaving 
behind us a swath of ruin sixty miles long, includ- 
ing the very flower of the Indian towns. 


280 


THE HERITAGE 


Here the general decided to remain for some 
time to refresh the troops, and he set to work at 
once preparing a report of the campaign for Gen- 
eral Knox. 

“ Why may not Stewart and I carry it to Phila- 
delphia ? ’’ asked Frederic, when Harry chanced 
to mention that evening that the general was at 
work on the report. 

“ But, my dear fellow,” protested Harry, “ you 
could not bear the journey.” 

“ Nonsense — I am strong as I ever was. 
Would you like to go, Stewart ? ” 

Would I ? He had only to look at me to read 
his answer. 

“But our claims,” I objected. “We cannot go 
back with them in our pockets.” 

“No,” and Frederic’s face clouded. “We 
must do what we came west to do. Well, we shall 
not have to wait much longer,” he added, with a 
cheerfulness not quite genuine. “ This defeat of 
the Indians must soon open the valley of the Scioto 
to us.” 

“ Yes,” I said, “ and I know exactly where tfie 
claims must be placed — on the west bank of the 
river, from five to six miles above the mouth of 
the Olomon.” 

“ Why,” broke in Harry, “ if you know that 
much, the rest is easy enough. Give me your war- 
rants and I will send them to Colonel Anderson, 
the surveyor of this district, at the Falls of the 
Ohio. I met him frequently at Fort Washington, 
and at the home of Judge Symmes, at Cincin- 


WE START ON A LONG JOURNEY 281 


nati. I am sure he will be glad to attend to the 
business for you.” 

“You intend to remain in the west yourself, 
then, Harry ? ” I asked. 

“ Why, yes, for the present,” he answered with 
a little laugh, but I was so occupied with my own 
affairs that I did not notice his confusion. 

So it was decided that he should take charge of 
our claims, if the general gave us the commission, 
and together we three waited upon him to prefer 
the request. 

“ Certainly,” he answered instantly. “ You 
may carry the report — one of the reports, that is. 
The means of communication are so uncertain that 
I intend to send two, — one by river, the other 
through Lexington, and so on by the wilderness 
road. You may carry the latter, if you .wish, 
though I warn you it is a long and weary journey. 
Still, the river service is so slow and irregular that 
you will very likely be the first to Philadelphia 
with the news.” 

“ Very well, sir, and thank you,” said Frederic, 
and we went back to our tent to make ready for 
an early start next day. There was not much to 
do, but we sat late into the night talking over the 
past and planning for the future. 

“ I have a note here,” said Harry, just before 
we blew out the candle, “ which I wish you to 
take to Fort Washington for me. It is to Judge 
Symmes,” he added. 

“ Why, of course,” said Frederic, and stowed it 
away in his wallet, from which our land warrants 


282 


THE HERITAGE 


had already been transferred to Harry’s keeping. 
“ And have you none to send east by us ? ” . 

“ No,” said Harry. “ No, I believe not. You 
can remember me to all who ask news of me. Per- 
haps you will see my guardian, Mr. Morris, who 
thinks me quite gone to the dogs.” 

But there were others in plenty who had mis- 
sives to send, and by the time we were ready to 
start, a great parcel of them had collected at head- 
quarters for us. We rolled them in a strip of 
canvas and packed them away with the remainder 
of our kit ; but the general’s letters Frederic placed 
in his book, which was carried in a pocket in his 
shirt. 

“ Good-by and good luck,” was the general’s 
parting greeting. “I think you will find your 
message no unwelcome one,” and he gave us each 
a warm clasp of the hand. 

W e said good-by to the others, and to Harry last 
of all ; then swung to saddle and started south- 
ward on our long journey home. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


I COME TO PHILADELPHIA 

We went back by quick stages to Fort Wash- 
ington, along the road beaten to smoothness by 
the unceasing passage of the transport, stopping 
at Forts Greenville, JefPerson, and Hamilton, and 
reaching our destination on the evening of the 
fourth day, without adventure of any kind. We 
gave to Major Zeigler, in command of the fort, the 
duplicate dispatches which were to go to Fort Pitt 
by river and thence across the mountains. Then 
we made our way down into the little settlement of 
Cincinnati, which had sprung up on the river bank 
just below the fort, and finally found the residence 
of Judge Symmes. He came to the door himself, 
and invited us in most cordially when he learned 
that we bore a note from Lieutenant Harrison. 
He laughed as he tore it open and saw its contents. 

“ Three words to me,” he said, “ but I ’ll war- 
rant there ’s more in this enclosure,” and he held 
up a little missive that had been folded within his 
own. “ Excuse me a moment, gentlemen,” and he 
went to the door and bade a servant summon his 
daughter. In a moment there came a swirl of 
skirts on the stair, and one of the most charming 
girls I ever saw came into the room with a hop, 


284 


THE HERITAGE 


skip, to stop abashed when she saw two strangers 
standing there. 

“Never mind, my love,” laughed her father. 
“ Gentlemen, this is my daughter, Anna. They 
are from Wayne’s army, my dear, and have brought 
me a note in which I have found another, from a 
gentleman you know,” and he held it up tantaliz- 
ingly, high out of her reach. 

She crimsoned with surprise and pleasure as she 
looked at it. 

“ Now don’t be cruel, papa,” she pleaded, hold- 
ing out her hands ; and he deposited the note in 
them on the instant. 

“ You may run away and read it, my dear,” he 
said. “We will pardon you,” and as she curtsied 
to us and flew up the stair, he turned to us smil- 
ingly. “ ’T will be a hard blow to her mother and 
me to lose her,” he said, “ but I know of no one we 
would give her to more gladly than Lieutenant 
Harrison. Do you know him well, gentlemen ? ” 

“We were boys together, sir,” I replied. “ Our 
home was just above Berkeley on the James.” 

Nothing would do but that we should tell him 
something of our life there, and while we were 
talking, his daughter came shyly in again, bringing 
her mother with her. All of them insisted that we 
stay for dinner, and a simple, kindly, generous 
family we found them. It was my privilege to sit 
at table beside Miss Anna, and to pour into her 
ear such stories of her lover as turned her red with 
pleasure. Lucky dog that he was ! What a hun- 
ger for woman’s presence my three years of exile 


I COME TO PHILADELPHIA 


285 


had given me, and how I relished that evening 
with this cultured, witty family ! " It passed all too 
quickly, and at last we bade them good-by with gen- 
uine regret and made our way back to the fort to 
be ready for an early start. But early as it was, the 
judge was at the landing, and went with us on the 
ferry across the river, to wave us good-by upon its 
other side, as we rode southward for Lexington. 

There is no need that I should detail here that 
long journey over the wilderness road, by which 
so many thousands had poured into Kentucky, and 
which was still the main artery of travel between 
west and east. It was a good road nearly all the 
way, — much better, as a whole, than the one to 
Fort Pitt, — with a passable inn at almost every 
stage, and we met many people on it hurrying 
toward the west. We found ourselves welcome 
messengers indeed. The news we brought of Gen- 
eral Wayne’s great victory was everywhere re- 
ceived with acclamations, and the colonists pushed 
forward more zealously than ever toward what 
most of them regarded as a second Promised 
Land. 

In ten days we reached Laurel Eiver, and so on 
to Kichland Creek and the Cumberland, up which 
we traveled for about ten miles. Then began the 
ascent to the gap, not a bad one by any means, nor 
so steep as the road over Laurel Hill. Beyond it, 
our way lay in a great valley between the ridges to 
Powell’s Mountain, which the road crossed to get 
into the next trough to the eastward. The road 
beyond was bad and hilly, but we pressed forward 


286 


THE HERITAGE 


to the Clinch, where there was a little settlement 
and a mill owned by a man named Briley. 

The road to the eastward continued very hilly, 
but we finally won through to Major Campbell’s 
on the Holston River, who assured us that the 
worst lay behind. The next day we reached Fort 
Chissel, a rude blockhouse built forty years before, 
immediately after the capture of Fort Duquesne 
from the French. Here a road from the south 
joined the main road, bringing in the immigrants 
from Richmond and the central portions of Vir- 
ginia. But we kept to the north road, crossing 
New River at Inglis’s ferry, where there was a 
large settlement, passing over the divide and down 
into the Shenandoah valley, the “ great wilderness ” 
left behind at last. 

Frederic had stood the trip thus far splendidly. 
He protested every day that his wound troubled 
him not the slightest, and it was always he who 
was urging an early start and more rapid progress. 
He seemed consumed by a very fever of desire 
to get home, and though he said never a word to 
me about it, I could guess the reason easily enough. 
He appeared as strong as I, so I spurred along 
beside him willingly. But now, as we proceeded, 
a change came over him — he rode with lips com- 
pressed and a line of pain between his eyes. Yet 
when I questioned him, he laughed at my fears, 
and declared them wholly groundless. That he 
was deceiving me, and himself also, perhaps, I 
know now well enough. It was only his strength 
of will that held him up, and one evening as we 


I COME TO PHILADELPHIA 


287 


cantered into Martinsburg, he slipped and fell as 
he was getting down from the saddle before the 
inn. I was beside him in an instant, raised him 
and led him into the house. He smiled at me with 
pale lips, and I trembled as I felt how weak he was. 

“ You must get to bed at once,” I said. “ You 
are in no shape to travel farther.” 

He made no protest, and I soon had him safe 
between the sheets. I left him so, and went to the 
taproom to get him a bowl of toddy. It took some 
moments to brew, and when I came back again, he 
was sitting up in bed, plucking at the cover. 

“ Here is some toddy, Frederic,” I said. “ Drink 
it. It will strengthen you.” 

He looked at me for a moment with eyes shining 
strangely. 

“ But where is Ruth ? ” he asked. “ I heard her 
voice. Is she not coming ? ” 

It gave me such a shock I came near dropping 
the dish. 

“ Heard her voice ! ” I cried. 

“ Yes — just a moment since. She was coming 
up the stair with her father. Is she still angry ? 
Does she still think me a coward ? Has n’t she 
forgiven me yet? You must tell her to forgive 
me, Stewart.” 

Then I understood. I set down the dish and 
went to him and took both his hands in mine — 
they were hot with fever. 

“ I will — oh, I will ! ” I cried. “ She shall 
come, Frederic. I promise you. Only lie down 
now and be quiet.” 


288 


THE HERITAGE 


He obeyed me like a child, talking hoarsely to 
himself the while, and so soon as I had him settled 
again, I flew down the stair on feet winged by 
terror to summon aid. In that hour of trial our 
host, a little fat man named John Duncan, proved 
himself a friend indeed. He called a surgeon, who, 
finding the fever higher and the delirium more 
violent, at once bled Frederic, and then undid the 
bandages about his wound. It looked inflamed 
and swollen, and was bleeding a little, doubtless 
from the fall. He shook his head over it as he 
washed it and bound it up again. 

“ Has he ridden far in this state ? ” he asked. 

“We have come near eight hundred miles,’’ I 
answered. 

“ Eight hundred miles ! ” 

“ He would come,” I said. “ I could not say 
him nay. He said he was quite strong.” 

“Humph! Well, we will do what we can to 
repair the damage,” and he went out, leaving me 
alone with such bitter self-accusing as had never 
before wrung me. Why had I let him come ; why 
had I let him blind me to his suffering — why . . . 

Mrs. Duncan came up presently with a bitter 
draught, which purged him and broke the fever, 
but left him weak and white. He dropped asleep 
at last, and I, sitting over his bed through the 
night, resolved that if he got no better I would 
myself set off for Kiverview and bring Ruth back 
with me. Forgive him, indeed I Rather should 
she go down on her knees and beg forgiveness for 
ever doubting him ! 


I COME TO PHILADELPHIA 


289 


Morning came and he still slept, but the sur- 
geon said he was better, that the sleep would re- 
new his strength, and they sent me off to bed, 
unheeding my protests. It was near evening when 
I awoke, but good news awaited me. He had 
taken a little food and was asleep again ; he was 
stronger and better in every way ; there was no- 
thing I could do. So the night passed, and the 
day and another night ; but the third morning he 
awoke much stronger and with head quite clear. 

“ How long have we been here ? ” was his first 
question, when he opened his eyes and saw me 
standing by his bedside. 

“ This is the third day,” I said. 

“ What folly ! ” he cried, trying to raise himself, 
while I held him, imploring him to lie still lest 
he do himself an injury. “ Why did you not take 
the dispatches and ride on with them, Stewart ? ” 

“ Because I think more of you than of a hun- 
dred dispatches,” I answered hotly. “The dis- 
patches can wait. I ’ll stay here till you are well.” 

He looked up at me with anger in his eyes — 
anger and reproach. 

“You will do nothing of the sort,” he said 
sternly. “ You will take the dispatches and go on 
with them at once to Philadelphia, or I myself 
will do so.” 

There was nothing for it but to consent, for I 
verily believe he would have made good the threat 
and killed himself in doing if. My only satisfac- 
tion as I rode slowly on toward the Potomac was 
that I had left him in good hands, and the surgeon 


290 


THE HERITAGE 


had assured me that he was well-nigh out of dan- 
ger and would soon regain his strength. 

I crossed the river at Wadkin’s ferry, and 
pushed on as rapidly as my horse could carry me 
over the mountain at Block’s Gap, through Hun- 
terstown, Abbottstown, and Yorktown, to Wright’s 
ferry on the Susquehanna, and so on by the Lan- 
caster road toward Philadelphia. Th^ roads were 
good, the two days’ rest at Martinsburg had put 
my horse in fair condition, and four days later, 
just as evening fell, I came to the Schuylkill and 
saw the lights of the great city gleaming from the 
other side. I was soon across, and inquired of the 
first watchman the way to the residence of General 
Knox. 

“ An’ what might you be wantin’ with him ? ” 
he asked with a curiosity I thought exceedingly 
ill-timed. 

“ I bring him dispatches from the west,” I said. 

“ An’ what might be goin’ on there ? ” he per- 
sisted. 

“ General Wayne has won a great victory over 
the Indians,” I answered impatiently. “ Will you 
tell me where General Knox lives, or not ? ” 

“ Why, of course I will, young feller,” be said. 
“ I ’ll take you right to the house myself. So th’ 
Indians is beat at last — th’ Lord be praised ! — 
th’ Lord be praised ! ” 

He set off ahead of me along the street, swing- 
ing his lantern, and stopping every now and then 
to shout the news to some acquaintance or other 
watchman, who took up the cry and sent it echoing 


I COME TO PHILADELPHIA 


291 


from block to block across the city. At last we 
stopped before a small brick house at whose door 
my guide thundered. 

“ An express for General Knox ! ” he an- 
nounced to the man who opened the door. 

“ General Knox is at the President’s,” said the 
man. 

“ Then we ’ll go there,” said my guide. “ Come 
along, sir; ’tis only a step; just over here on 
High Street.” 

There was nothing to do but follow, though the 
minutes were passing in a way that vexed me. 

“ That ’s th’ place, sir,” announced my guide 
at last, and pointed ahead to a tall, square, four- 
storied house, flanked on either side by high walls, 
and illuminated by two street-lamps. “ That ’s 
th’ President’s house.” 

The upper windows were ablaze with light, and 
through them I could catch a glimpse of a crowd 
of gayly dressed people. 

“ Why, ’t is a reception ! ” I cried, suddenly 
conscious of my own bedraggled and travel-stained 
attire. “ I can’t enter there ! ” 

“ Nonsense ! ” retorted my guide. “ One man 
is as good as another here,” and in proof of the 
assertion, he went up the little flight of steps and 
wielded the knocker with no light hand. From 
somewhere near-by there suddenly burst out a great 
clamor of bells, and I thought I could hear people 
cheering. Then the door was flung open and a 
man in a livery of white and scarlet stood on the 
threshold. 


292 


THE HERITAGE 


“A messenger with dispatches from General 
Wayne!’’ announced my guide, who plainly rel- 
ished the importance of his mission. “ Is General 
Knox here ? ” 

“ He is, sir,” responded the other. 

“ Who wants General Knox ? ” demanded a 
voice, and a man in uniform came up behind the 
servant. 

“A messenger from General Wayne, sir,” re- 
peated my guide. 

I tumbled off my horse and stumbled up the 
steps. I had not realized how tired and stiff I 
was. The man at the door caught me by the arm 
to steady me and looked into my face. 

“ Defeat or victory ? ” he asked in a voice 
scarce above a whisper. 

“ Victory,” I said. 

“ Glorious I Come with me,” and he strode 
before me down the hall, up a rather narrow stair, 
and into a room at the left of the passage. 

“ Why are the bells ringing ? ” I heard a 
voice ask, as we entered the room, with the people 
parting to the left and right. “ Has some news 
arrived ? ” 

“ It is here this instant, sir,” cried my guide. 
“ A messenger from General Wayne with the wel- 
comest news we have had for many a day ! ” 

He brought me forward, and I found myself 
looking up into the eyes of the President. 


CHAPTER XXX 


MEETING 

Such calm, steadfast eyes they were, blue-gray, 
looking out from under heavy brows, and shining 
now with the liveliest satisfaction. 

“ You bring a message, sir ? ” he asked. 

“ I do, sir,’’ I said with what steadiness I could 
muster, and brought it forth. “ It is addressed to 
General Knox,” I added. 

“ I think General Knox will not object to your 
giving it to me,” he said with a little smile. “ It 
brings good news ? ” 

“ Very good, sir.” 

“ Then it shall be read here,” and he took it 
from me, tearing off the cover. He glanced at 
the close writing, and then handed it to a gentle- 
man who stood at his elbow. “Mr. Lear,” he 
said, “ you will have to read it to us — I have 
grown not only gray, but almost blind, in the ser- 
vice of my country.” 

It was said so simply, so sweetly, that I felt a 
mist before my own eyes, and I am sure there were 
others in the room not wholly dry. Mr. Lear be- 
gan the reading, while the guests crowded into the 
room and about the open door to hear. 


294 


THE HERITAGE 


Headquaetbbs, Grand Qlaizb, 
August 28, 1794. 

Sir, — It is with infinite pleasure that I now an- 
nounce to you the brilliant success of the federal 
army under my command in a general action with 
the combined forces of the hostile Indians and a 
considerable number of the volunteers and militia 
of Detroit on the 20th instant, on the banks of the 
Miami in the vicinity of the British post and gar- 
rison at the foot of the rapids. 

He got no farther, for a girl’s voice near the 
door called, “ Three cheers for General Wayne ! ” 
and they were given with a will, while the Presi- 
dent stood with beaming face. 

“ That is right ! ” he said. “ Thank God, that 
great load is lifted from us. But, pardon me, Mr. 
Lear ; what is the date of that dispatch ? I did 
not catch it.” 

“ The twenty-eighth of August, sir.” 

“ And this is the third of October. You have 
done well, sir,” he added to me. “ By which route 
did you come ? ” 

“ By the wilderness road, sir.” 

“ And alone ? ” 

“I had a companion, sir. I left him ill at 
Martinsburg.” 

He looked at me more closely than he had yet 
done and held out his hand. 

“ I thank you, sir, for your diligence,” he said, 
giving me a warm clasp. “ You seem spent and 
tired yourself — you must need refreshment. 


MEETING 


295 


Nelly,” he called, “ come hither, you minx — you 
shall be punished for interrupting the reading of 
General Wayne’s report hy being forbidden to 
hear the rest of it. Take Lieutenant ” — 

“ Randolph, sir,” I said. 

“ Take Lieutenant Randolph to the supper-room 
and see that he is served. This is my daughter. 
Miss Custis,” he added. 

I bowed to the dark-eyed girl of sixteen who 
came floating forward, and followed her, I know 
not how, out into the haU and along it to the 
supper-room. I felt strangely weak and shaky, 
and could scarcely hold the glass of wine she 
brought me. 

“ Thank you,” I said. “ Pardon me if I seem 
awkward and confused, but I have had no such 
Ganymede since I left Riverview four years ago.” 
I drained the glass at a draught and could feel the 
good wine running warm through my veins. 

But she had swung round upon me with a white, 
startled face. 

“ Left where ? ” she cried. 

“ Riverview,” I answered. “ Colonel Stewart’s 
estate on the Potomac. I thought perhaps you 
knew it.” 

“ Know it ! I do know it — as well as I know 
Mount Vernon. But I don’t know ” — 

“ Me ? No, of course not. I was there so short 
a time, and you were at New York.” 

“That’s not what I mean, sir,” she retorted. 
“ I did n’t catch your name — tell me your name, 
sir, this instant I ” 


296 


THE HERITAGE 


“ Stewart Eandolph, at your service, Miss 
Custis,” I said, and bowed low before her. 

She sat down suddenly upon a chair, as though 
her legs had failed her, and I could see how she 
vainly tried to still the trembling of her hands by 
clenching them together in her lap. 

“ But they have thought you dead — these three 
years,” she said at last. 

“ Yes — I was taken captive by the Indians at 
the defeat of General St. Clair, and escaped just 
in time to join General Wayne’s legion.” 

Still she sat looking at me, as though unable to 
believe her senses. 

“ Oh, Nelly ! ” cried a voice from the door. 
“ Here have I b^en looking for you everywhere — 
never thinking of the supper-room ! ” 

But Miss Custis had sprung from her chair, had 
flown to the door, had thrown her arms about one 
standing there, and was sobbing and laughing all 
in a breath. 

“ What is the matter, dear ? ” asked the voice. 
“ What has happened ? ” She looked suddenly 
over the other’s shoulder and saw me staring at 
her. “ Who ” — she began, and stopped. 

“ Oh, can I tell you ? ” cried the girl. “ Oh, 
dare I tell you ? Can you bear it, dear ? ” 

“ Bear it ? Bear what, Nelly ? ” 

“ Yes — I can’t keep it — come hither,” and 
she dragged the other into the room, all smiles and 
tears. The other — my heart gave a great leap as 
I looked at her, standing there in the light of the 
candles. “ Who says the age of miracles is past ? 


MEETING 


297 


Here, my dear, is the courier who has brought us 
news of General Wayne’s great victory. I know 
you will wish to meet him — Lieutenant Stewart 
Randolph ! ” 

Her face went white ; she clutched at the table 
for support ; but I sprang to her and caught her 
in my arms — to my heart — as I had never held 
her — as I had never hoped to hold her. 

“ Ruth,” I said. “ Dear Ruth ! It is no mira- 
cle — I should not have startled you so, but I did 
not know ” — 

“ There ! ” cried Miss Custis. “ Blame a wo- 
man ! That has been man’s way since Adam ! ” 

“ And Frederic,” I hurried on, lest I forget, lest 
my courage fail, — “ and Frederic came with me, 
too, dear Ruth; wounded, he came with me, he 
burnt so to get back to Riverview and to the dear 
people there — to one especially. He fell ill at 
Martinsburg — he could come no farther and he 
made me leave him.” 

The color had swept back to her face, and she 
released herself gently from my arms and stood 
from me. Oh, what a glory she was to God’s 
handiwork ! I had left her a girl and I found her a 
woman — red blood, warm heart ! If I had loved 
her then, how would I love her now ! 

“ He left you once ! ” she said, her dark eyes 
full of scorn. 

In a flash I saw it all — all I had not guessed, 
that Frederic had not told me. 

“ He never left me ! ” I cried warmly. “ If you 
had seen that rout — how could he know? He 


298 


THE HERITAGE 


had other duties — he was in the van where the 
general had placed him! And he would have 
thrown his life away in the attempt to rescue me 
but that the general interfered I ” 

“Well, let us not quarrel in this first moment, 
cousin,” she said a little wearily. “It seems to 
me that we were always quarreling while you were 
at Eiverview. And I have blamed myself ” — 

“ No, no I ” I protested. “ It was I who was to 
blame I I was a churlish, quick-tempered boy ! 
Only,” I added, “ you must pardon Frederic, dear 
cousin. To blame him is so absurd — so unjust — 
so unlike you! Besides, now that I have come 
safe out of it, there is nothing to blame him for.” 

“ No,” she said with a little smile, “ I must cer- 
tainly forgive him.” 

“ But I shall not ! ” cried Nelly Custis, with a 
storm in her eyes and on her brow that astonished 
me. “ I shall not — I think him odious I ” and she 
flung out of the room. 

“ Why,” I began, when I could get my breath. 
“ Why, heavens and earth, she has never even met 
him ! ” 

But in her stormy passage along the hall she had 
left some word of my presence, for I heard a rush 
of steps, and Colonel Stewart himself burst into 
the room and took me in his arms as he might have, 
taken a child. 

“Oh, but this will be good news to Chris and 
Margaret I ” he cried. “ Do you hear, Ruth, we 
start back to-morrow.” 

“ They are not here, then ? ” I asked. 


MEETING 


299 


“ No, they are at Belterre, just south of Kiver- 
view, — an estate I had the good fortune to secure 
some three years ago, and which your father has 
been managing for me. That was a sad time, my 
boy, when Frederic’s letter came saying that you 
were dead and accusing himself.” 

“ I know,” I said. “ You must have seen, sir, 
how absurd that accusation was.” 

“ I did,” said the colonel. “ I remembered Brad- 
dock’s field — but who can reason with a woman 

— especially such a willful one as this?” and he 
pinched Ruth’s ear. “ But what a big fellow you 
have grown,” he added, holding me off to look at 
me. “ Clear-eyed, clean-skinned, brown as a berry 

— why, I protest, those three years with the sav- 
ages did you no harm, my boy.” 

“No,” I said. “They did me much good, I 
think.” 

“ Is n’t he good to look at, Ruth ? ” he cried, 
but Ruth laughed and ran away without answer- 
ing. “ The little girl took it much to heart,” he 
added more gravely, “ when she thought you dead. 
She was always teasing you, you know; I think 
she has quite got over that. So you were three 
years with the savages I ” 

“ Three years ! I must tell you about it, sir.” 

“ So you shall ; and not me only, this very night. 
First, you must get some refreshment, for the 
President and some of the others are coming to 
hear your story. A more distinguished audience 
than most men have, my boy.” 

He sat down beside me at the table, and while I 


300 


THE HERITAGE 


ate and drank, told me such news as he thought 
would most interest me — of the estate, of father 
and mother. And presently came the President 
himself, breaking, for once, his rule of retiring at 
nine. Never was man who had less need of adorn- 
ment, — as I had seen once before, — and he was 
dressed now, quite simply, in a suit of dark silk 
velvet of the old cut I knew so well from having 
seen Mr. Harrison and Colonel Stewart wear it, 
with a silver-hilted small-sword at his side. He 
wore his hair full-powdered, with black silk rose 
and bag, and carried himself with a dignity and 
grace quite beyond describing. He brought with 
him General Knox, and Mr. Lear, his secretary, 
and Mr. Robert Morris, who was anxious to hear 
some news of his “ scapegrace ward ; ” my own 
cousin, Mr. Edmund Randolph, now risen to a 
high place in the councils of the state, and some 
two or three others whom I do not remember. 
And after some little hesitancy and stumbling at 
the first, I told my story. It was to the Presi- 
dent I told it, — I soon forgot the presence of the 
rest, — and his calm, clear, honest eyes encour- 
aged me and held me up and bore me on, until I 
really think that I told it not half badly. Nor 
could I refrain from dwelling at some length 
upon the difficulties that had lain in the way of 
General St. Clair. 

“We have all realized our errors in that matter, 
sir,” said the President quietly, “ and it may inter- 
est you to know that he has had full justice done 
him. The Congress made a thorough investigation 


MEETING 


301 


of the whole campaign, and acquitted him abso- 
lutely and with honor from being in any way to 
blame for the defeat.” 

I tried to tell him how this news rejoiced me, 
but stammered and broke down. 

“ ’T is plain to see that his officers loved him,” 
he said kindly. “ Continue, sir.” 

So I took up the thread of my tale again, — my 
capture, my escape, the battle, — and they listened 
quietly enough, but when I came to the account of 
the correspondence between our general and Major 
Campbell they burst into roars of laughter. 

“ That is Mad Anthony all over ! ” cried General 
Knox. “To ride straight up to the mouths of the 
British cannon ! A toast to him — to the dearest, 
fieriest old warrior that survives the Revolution ! ” 

They drank it with a cheer, and I went on with 
my story, — the burning of the Indian towns, the 
return to Fort Defiance, the journey homeward 
through the wilderness. 

“What was the name of your companion?” 
asked the President ? ” 

“Captain Frederic Rohlman, sir.” 

“ And you say you left him at Martinsburg — 
what was the nature of his disorder ? ” 

“ Why, sir,” I said, stammering a little, “ he 
had a sword-thrust through his side. We thought 
it healed, but he fell from his horse and opened it 
again.” 

“ A sword-thrust ! ” said the President quickly. 
“A strange wound surely, to receive in a battle 
with the Indians ! ” 


302 


THE HERITAGE 


His steady eyes were looking at me and I could 
not evade. 

“ ’T was not received in the battle, sir,” I said, 
and so told him of the challenge and the duel, and 
of the causes that led up to them. He heard me to 
the end without comment, though with glowing 
eyes, then turned to General Knox with a smile. 

“ You see, sir, there has another generation of 
warriors grown up since our day^” he said. “ By 
the way, Mr. Morris, General Wayne mentions 
your ward very particularly in his dispatches. He 
seems to have, at last, found his true vocation.” 

“I am very glad to hear it,” responded Mr. 
Morris a little dryly, and, I think, despite the events 
of after days, he was never quite reconciled to 
Harry’s choice. 

“Before we say good-night, gentlemen,” said 
the President, rising, “ I have a toast to propose.” 
We rose with him and filled our glasses. “We 
drink to our gallant soldiers in the west, and espe- 
cially to those two who have brought us through 
the wilderness news of victory ! ” 


CHAPTER XXXI 


“JOURNEYS end” . . . 

Cousin Ruth was staying with Nelly Custis at 
the President’s house, but Colonel Stewart was the 
guest of Mr. Morris, whose residence was but a 
step away at the corner of Sixth and High. 
Thither we went, and there I awoke at dawn, re- 
freshed and spirited. There seemed to be no one 
stirring in the house, so I lay still where I was, my 
brain busy with the happenings of the previous 
night. Of the whole evening, one moment stood 
out above all the rest, — the moment when Ruth 
had lain within my arms, against my heart, — it 
set me a-tremble again to think of it! Well, it 
was something to have held her so, if only for a 
moment, since the hour was at hand when another 
and stronger one would claim her. Oh, how I 
could have loved her, were she mine to love I — 
how cherished her . . . 

Plainly, there was safety and content for me 
only in flight, and my thoughts turned longingly 
to the west, to the wilderness, where there was 
work to keep a man busy and free from the pangs 
of memory. 

I arose at last, very unsteady and miserable in 
mind, longing for some haven to cast anchor in. 


304 


THE HERITAGE 


and went down to the floor below. A servant, 
busily engaged in dusting the hall, looked at me 
with an air of surprise, and in response to my in- 
quiry said that neither Colonel Stewart nor Mr. 
Morris had as yet come down. He showed me 
into the bright morning-room and brought me a 
fresh, damp copy of “ Poulson’s Advertiser.” Its 
principal item was an account of General Wayne’s 
victory, which was given with as much circum- 
stance as the late arrival of the news permitted. 
The Congress had not yet begun its session, and I 
found nothing else in the paper to interest me, so 
laid it down and sat looking out upon the street. 
As I sat so, Mrs. Morris, a beautiful and kindly 
lady, came in to me, and presently her husband 
and Colonel Stewart also. 

“ That is youth ! ” he laughed, when he learned 
that I had been up for some two hours. “ A long 
day in the saddle, yet up again at dawn, fresh as 
ever ! You and I were young once, Morris ; but 
we love our beds, now. I protest that I should 
be in mine yet but that we must make an early 
start.” 

Breakfast was awaiting us, and during the meal 
a message from the President came for Colonel 
Stewart, who smiled as he read it. 

“We are to have a companion, it seems,” he 
said. “ That madcap Nelly Custis has, of a sud- 
den, grown weary of Philadelphia, and has decided 
to come with Ruth to Riverview. Well, we shall 
be glad to have her. She is the one person, I 
think,” he added, turning to our host, “ who stands 


« JOURNEYS END ” 305 

in no awe of the President — and how he loves 
her ! ” 

“ As though she were his very daughter,” said 
Mr. Morris. “ What is it, Sam ? ” he asked of 
the servant who appeared at the door and stood 
hesitating on the threshold. 

“A caller for Lieutenant Kandolph, sir,” and 
he handed me a card upon which a name was writ- 
ten in penmanship of unusual beauty. 

One glance at it brought the glad blood to my 
face. 

“ Why, ’t is General St. Clair ! ” I cried. 

“ General St. Clair ! ” — echoed Mr. Morris. 
“ Show him up at once, Sam ! I think we will 
have another bottle, my dear,” he added to his 
wife. 

It was the same kindly, gallant gentleman whom 
I found myself greeting, and who presently sat 
down with us — grayer, perhaps, with new lines 
in his face which trial and disappointment had 
graven there ; but with spirit as buoyant and eye 
as bright. 

“ I arrived from New York late last night,” he 
explained, “ and found the town ringing with the 
great news. This morning I learned the name 
of the courier, and must seek him out at once. 
You can’t know how it pleases me, sir, to find you 
alive and well. You must tell me the story.” 

And so for the third — or is it the fourth ? — 
time in this history, I rehearsed the tale of my ad- 
ventures. 

“ It was well done,” said the general, breathing 


306 


THE HERITAGE 


a deep sigh when I had ended. “ It was well 
done ! General Wayne was the man for the task,” 
and there was no trace of malice or of envy in his 
tone. “ I have a letter here,” he added, “ which 
may interest you. You remember M. de Malar- 
tie ? ” 

“ Eemember him, sir ! He was a very dear 
friend of mine ! ” 

“ Well, the letter is from him, and he asks to be 
remembered particularly to you and to your bro- 
ther. He returned to Europe after the campaign 
to find his fortune lost and his family either dead 
on the guillotine or in prison. He joined the 
French exiles at Coblentz, and has been fight- 
ing since that time in the Austrian and Prussian 
armies, his duty calling him, as he says, ‘ to avenge 
the best of kings.’ He adds that he hopes one 
day to return to America.” 

We drank his health and General Wayne’s, 
and, after a few moments, parted, my old com- 
mander to return to the trials of his government, 
greater in peace than they had ever been in war. 
And we said good-by to Mr. Morris and to his 
wife, and betook ourselves to the President’s house. 
We found that Mistress Nelly’s furbelows were 
not yet quite packed, and while we waited, Ruth 
took me for a walk through the garden back of 
the house, which was beautifully laid out and ex- 
tended through to Minor Street, where the Presi- 
dent’s stables were. She was quite her old self 
again, quick-witted and ready of tongue ; but I — 
I could only look at her and wonder at her beauty 


“JOURNEYS END ” 


307 


and curse my own ill fortune, and resolve to be off 
to the west away from danger — until my wits 
were hopelessly fuddled. After a time Miss Cus- 
tis came out, too, and launched divers shafts at 
me, which quite failed to pierce the tumult of my 
thoughts, though sharply pointed and shrewdly 
aimed. And then, to my great relief, the coach 
drove up, good-bys were said, I mounted my horse, 
and we were off. 

Of the journey to Riverview I have little recol- 
lection. I know only that I jogged along behind 
the coach, trying to adjust myself again with the 
world and finding the task no light one. Ruth 
and Miss Custis made some tentative efforts to 
draw me out, but after the first day, finding me 
fretful and unresponsive, left me to myself. Even 
the good colonel soon abandoned me, and devoted 
himself to the more cheerful company in the coach. 
At Riverview the dear ones were awaiting us, — 
what need to describe the meeting ? — and there 
was Frederic, too, very pale and weak, but quite 
cheerful. The wound was better, it seemed, and 
he had left his bed, against the protests of his doc- 
tor, and come down the river in a freight boat as 
far as the falls, where he had found another boat 
to carry him on to Alexandria. There Mr. Dodds 
had met him and brought him home. 

I saw his pale face flush as Ruth greeted him, 
and presently I bore Miss Custis away into the 
garden, leaving them alone together. She was 
silent for a while as we loitered up and down the 
walks, which fell in well enough with my mood ; 


308 


THE HERITAGE 


but though she affected to be looking at the 
flowers, I could see her glancing curiously at me 
from time to time. 

“ I spoke hastily of Captain Kohlman,” she said 
at last. “ I have a habit of speaking hastily. I 
think him fine.” 

“ That is the word,” I said. “ Fine. Every one 
must think so who really knows him.” 

“ And I have heard the story of the duel,” she 
went on. “ That was splendid, too, I think.” 

“ Yes,” I said. “ It was splendid.” 

“ And he has been very good to you ? ” she 
asked. 

“ I can’t tell you how good. He came into my 
life just at the moment I was beginning to feel my 
loneliness — he and Harry Harrison — I never 
had a brother or sister, you know; and he has 
been always a strong, loving elder brother, upon 
whom I could utterly rely.” 

She said nothing for a time, only tore to pieces 
slowly a rose that she had picked. 

“ I begin to see,” she said at last. “ I have 
spoken hastily to you, also, Mr. Randolph; pray 
forget it.” 

“ Why,” I protested, “ I have no memory of it ! ” 

“ In the garden that afternoon. Don’t tell me 
you have forgotten ! ” she cried, seeing my blank 
face. 

“ Really,” I began. 

“ You have, you have ! ” and she clapped her 
hands. “ See, I have been remorseful for no- 
thing. My conscience is surely growing over- 


“JOURNEYS END 


309 


sensitive. I think yours is over - sensitive, Mr. 
Randolph.” 

I looked down at her, suspecting that she was 
jesting again, but she returned my gaze quite 
seriously. 

“ And how would you remedy it. Miss Custis ? ” 
I asked. 

“ I would n’t think about it so much,” she said. 
“ I would not be always accusing myself of selfish- 
ness and I know not what beside. Of course we 
are selfish — all of us — ’t is human nature. Each 
of us has rights, Mr. Randolph, which we are 
bound to assert, even though some one else be 
injured. One of these is the right to be happy.” 

I could not see whither her talk was tending, 
and gazed down at her helplessly. 

“ Only men are so very dense,” she added with 
a spice of irony, as she caught my look. “ ’T is a 
wonder to me they ever get anywhere ! There 
was that crowd at Philadelphia which was always 
pursuing Ruth.” 

“ Crowd ! ” I cried. 

“ Ay — crowd ! Do you think yourself the 
only one, sir, who can see how beautiful she is ? 
Some of them were desperately in love, and I 
warrant you, each of them thought only of how to 
get her for himself.” 

Well, after all, there was nothing surprising 
about this, I told myself — nothing to occasion 
any alarm. Which of them could compare to 
Frederic ? 

But Miss Custis was weary of the game. 


310 


THE HERITAGE 


“You would better go back to your brother, 
sir,” she said, with meaning. “ No doubt he 
needs you.” 

So I went slowly back to the house and up the 
stair to Frederic’s room, where I found him alone, 
lying back, very tired and wan, in the great chair 
that had been fixed for him before the window. 
He turned his face to me with a little thin smile 
as I entered, and gave me his hand. 

There was no need that I should question him 
— he had thrown and lost — that was writ large 
in his eyes — and I sat down beside him, my heart 
aflame against the woman who had used him so. 
He seemed so weak and spiritless, so changed 
since an hour before, that I made no effort to draw 
him into talk. Colonel Stewart came past the 
door, and seeing me there, went on. An hour 
passed, and I sat quietly holding his hand until at 
last he closed his eyes and dropped asleep from 
sheer exhaustion. Then, calling Pomp to take 
my place, I went out again into the open air, for 
the house seemed to choke me. And there, in the 
garden, I came upon her, talking with Nelly Custis, 
as though she had not just struck a brave man 
through the heart. 

I would have turned back when I saw them 
standing there, but Miss Custis called to me and I 
could not but obey. 

“ I implore your aid,” she cried, and added as 
she looked at me, “O Knight of the Kueful 
Countenance ! I have a grave affair ahead, where 
it behooves me to tread carefully.” 


“JOURNEYS END 


311 


“ What is the affair ? ” I asked with little 
interest. 

“ An affair of the heart,” she laughed, “ between 
two ” — but Ruth clapped a hand across her mouth 
and silenced her. 

“ No,” I said coldly. “ I fear you must do with- 
out my aid, Miss Custis. The only affair of that 
kind in which I ever intermeddled has just ended 
to my bitter disappointment.” 

I did not glance at Ruth, but I could see how 
she clung to her companion, and I gloried in the 
thought that I had struck home. Something in 
her attitude reproached me with cruelty, — with 
injustice, — but I shut my heart to it, and started 
to pass on. 

“ Oh, Mr. Randolph,” called Miss Custis after 
me. 

“Yes?” and I stopped, but without turning, 
suspecting some new gibe. 

“ Do you ever read your Bible ? ” 

“ Occasionally.” 

“ Well, the next time you take it down, turn to 
second Samuel, the twelfth chapter and the seventh 
verse. Read the first sentence two or three times, 
until you are quite certain you understand it — 
quite certain, remember ! ” 

I strode away angrily, — I was in no mood for 
jesting, — and went for a long walk along the 
river. 

Frederic rallied somewhat in the afternoon, and 
I went again to sit with him. Doctor Harden had 


312 


THE HERITAGE 


come over from Alexandria, and I helped him 
dress the wound, which was again inflamed and 
swollen. 

“ It is doing fairly well,” he said, “ only there 
is a fever which worries me somewhat, and a gen- 
eral lassitude which I do not quite understand. 
The fever must be watched closely, and we must 
stop this inflammation. I will stay here the night 
in case it should grow worse.” 

The rector of Quantico church, Mr. Thomas 
Harrison, who had clung to his charge despite the 
disestablishment, sustained, I suspect, very largely 
by Colonel Stewart, had also driven over to wel- 
come his patron home, and spent a portion of the 
afternoon with Frederic and me. He was a good 
man enough, doubtless, but a dull and unimagina- 
tive one, and I was sincerely glad when he arose 
to go. He had some other pastoral calls to pay in 
the neighborhood, he explained, and would be back 
to Riverview to spend the night. I sent Pomp 
away, too, telling him I would call him when I 
needed him. 

For a time neither of us spoke, but as I felt how 
feverish his hands were, and noted, for the hun- 
dredth time, his weakness, my anger overmastered 
me. 

“ It was heartless ! ” I blurted out. “ It was 
base ! ” 

But he stopped me with a look. 

“Not that, Stewart,” he said. “Not that at 
all ! Only she does not love me. She was brave 
enough and wise enough to tell me so quite plainly. 


JOURNEYS END 


313 


So it is not in the least her fault — I would not 
have her without love.” 

“ But this is nonsense, dear Frederic ! ” I pro- 
tested. “ Why should she not love you — 
unless” . . . 

I stopped — the very thought of it seemed to 
freeze my heart. Oh, I could not give her to 
another ! 

“ Unless she loves some one else,” said Frederic 
quietly. “ I have thought of that, dear Stewart ; 
but I know not who. Perhaps at Philadelphia she 
met some one ”... 

That was the solution. 

“ Miss Custis told me she was much admired 
there,” I said bitterly. “ Doubtless that was the 
love affair she wanted me to hasten.” 

“Wanted you to hasten?” repeated Frederic 
quickly. 

“ Yes, — I met her in the garden after I left 
you, — her and Ruth. I told her I would never 
meddle in another.” 

“ And what did she answer you, Stewart ? ” 

He was looking at me strangely, intently. 

“ Oh, with some gibe about reading my Bible,” 
I answered impatiently. “ She is always jesting.” 

“ Yes, — but what did she say ? ” persisted 
Frederic. 

“ She told me to read some verse — in Samuel, 
I think.” 

“ Try to remember it, Stewart.” 

It was said so earnestly that I looked at him, 
surprised, half suspecting, that the delirium was 


314 


THE HERITAGE 


back again. But he seemed quite calm, only his 
eyes were gleaming strangely. 

“ It was in Samuel,” I said, striving at recollec- 
tion. “In second Samuel — ah, I remember — 
the twelfth chapter and the seventh verse ” — she 
said to read the first sentence till I was sure I un- 
derstood it.” 

“ Let me have my Bible,” he said. “ It is there 
on the shelf at my bed-head.” 

I got it for him, and watched him as be turned 
quickly to the place. I saw his eyes run along 
the lines, and then he lifted them to me with such 
joy in them, such love . . . 

“ Stewart ! ” he cried. “ God bless you ! ” 

And he held out the book for me to see. Dazzled, 
trembling, only half understanding, for a moment 
I could not see the page, then the words stood out 
clear before me : — 

“ And Nathan said to David, ‘ Thou art the 
man ! ’ ” 

He cast the book upon the floor, and held out 
both hands to me. 

“ Can you forgive me, dear brother ? ” he cried. 
“ I have been so blind ; so selfish ! ” 

“ Blind ! Selfish ! It is I who have been that, 
Frederic ! ” 

“ You ? Yes, you have been blind enough ; 
but our eyes are opened now ! Do you love her, 
Stewart?” 

Love her ! Oh . . . What could I say — only 
look into his eyes and cling to his hands. 

“ Then go to her, Stewart ! Go to her and 
tell her.” 


“JOURNEYS END 


315 


“ I cannot ! ” I cried, my face covered with my 
hands. “ I dare not ! ” 

“ She may be awaiting you,’’ he said. “ Think 
of her there in the garden awaiting you ! ” 

“ But you,” I began. 

“ I shall joy in your happiness. With all my 
heart I shall rejoice in it. Go ! ” 

And, stumbling, blinded, dazed with joy, I went 
— down the stair — out into the garden . . . 


CHAPTER XXXII 


... “IN LOVERS meeting” 

Long before I came to her I saw her sitting in 
the bower at the garden-end, gazing out across the 
vineyard. Her chin was in her hand, and though 
her face was turned from me, there was in her atti- 
tude a dreariness, a loneliness, that brought quick 
tears to my eyes. She did not hear me until I 
had come quite near ; then she looked around and 
rose slowly to her feet with face aflame. 

How should I begin ? I could only stand and 
look at her with warm love in my eyes. 

“Sweetheart,” I said at last; and as though 
the word had unlocked the fountains of her heart, 
I saw her eyes brim with tears ; she held out her 
hands to me ; and again she was in my arms close 
against my heart — and mine the right to hold her 
there, ever and ever ! 

“ Oh, but I have loved you ! ” I whispered, 
kissing the ear, half hidden in her curls. “ Oh, 
the years and years ! But I thought ”... 

“ Yes, I know, dear Stewart. Oh, you were 
very blind, dear ! ” 

“ I measured myself with him,” I said, “ and 
saw my own unworthiness.” 

But she placed her fingers on my lips with a 
little mock frown of anger. 


IN LOVERS MEETING 


317 


“ No more of that, sir ! ” she cried. “ I will 
not have it ! ” 

I kissed the fingers, and we sat down together 
on the bench — close, close ! 

“ And you made me, oh ! so jealous, sir, many 
times ! ” she laughed. “ There was Suzanne — 
you were quite foolish about her, you know ! ” 

“ Yes,” I assented, “ I have been a fool many 
times in my life, sweetheart. Only yesterday I 
had resolved to go back to the wilderness.” 

“ Yes ; I suspected it.” 

“ Suspected it ? ” 

“ I am not blind, sir ; I have suspected many 
things. I think I should have died had I not 
suspected” . . . 

“ That I loved you, Ruth ? ” 

She nodded, and looked up at me with brim- 
ming eyes. What a blind fool I had been ! 

“ But I did not suspect,” I said. “ I told you 
once before that I was stupid, sweetheart ; remem- 
ber, I have warned you ! ” 

“ Oh, but I would not let you suspect, dear 
Stewart ; I was always on guard, while you ”... 

I kissed her on lips and eyes ; my blood was 
singing with the thought, “ She is mine, mine, 
mine ; now and ever, she is mine I ” Over and 
over, over and over, “ She is mine ! This wonder- 
ful, beautiful, worshipful woman is mine ! ” I had 
thought myself in hell, and here were the gates of 
heaven open ! 

“ But that you should love me ! ” I said. “ That 
is the wonder, sweetheart ! ” 


318 


THE HERITAGE 


“ And what is so wonderful about it, Stewart ? ” 

“ Why, what am I ? And Nelly Custis told 
me of the men who fell into your train at 
Philadelphia ! ” 

“ Nelly Custis is a minx ! ” she cried. “ Do 
you know, sir, it was all on your account she came 
home with me.” 

“ Heaven bless her ! But for her I should still 
be walking in darkness, Ruth! Such a terrible 
darkness I I was too stupid to find my own way 
out.” 

“ Stupid I But you are not, Stewart ! Shall I 
tell you what you are ? ” 

“ What am I, dear ? ” 

“ You are the man I love ! ” she said, and 
crowned me as no king was ever crowned. 

We went forth presently from the garden, hand 
in hand. 

“ I have something to show you,” she said, and 
led me toward the river. 

Evening was at hand, and little clouds of mist 
were steaming up from the water. 

“ It is here,” she said, and led me to the seat 
between the two tall oaks. “ Do you remember, 
dear, sitting here once with me, and you found on 
the arm of the seat there the little love-token my 
mother had cut when her lover was away in the 
west? ” 

“ Do you think I could forget, sweetheart ? ” 

“ And I read in your eyes what you dared not 
say outright. Well, see, on this other arm.” 


“IN LOVERS MEETING 


319 


I bent and saw, cut in the wood, an E and an S, 
encircled by a heart. 

“ They were such hard letters to cut, Stewart,’’ 
she said. “ And how I labored at them ! If you 
had found them, do you think you would have 
known ? ” 

“ I don’t know, my dear,” I said ; “ but I know 
now, and I am very happy,” and I bent and kissed 
them. 

“ And now,” she said at last, “ we must tell the 
others — father first of all.” 

We found him .in his office, a lighted candle 
on either side, going over some accounts. We 
stopped upon the threshold, my arm about her, 
and something in our look caused him to snatch 
off his spectacles and lean suddenly back in his 
chair. 

“ Why,” he began, “ why ”... 

“ Colonel Stewart,” I faltered, feeling my knees 
of a sudden growing weak beneath me, “ Euth has 
consented to be my wife, and — and — we love 
each other very much ! ” 

Euth loosed my arm and flew to him, and threw 
her arms about him. 

“ Very, very much, dear father ! ” she cried. 

He drew her down upon his knee with a great 
light in his face ; and I went blindly to him, and 
he took us both into his arms, to that generous, 
tender heart. His eyes were bright with tears as 
he looked down at us, and from the movement of 
his lips, I knew that he was praying. 


320 


THE HERITAGE 


“ I must go up to Frederic,” I said at last. “ I 
left him alone ” — 

“ Alone ? ” repeated the colonel, suddenly grave. 

“ He sent me away — to Ruth,” I said, but not 
till that instant did I realize how the time had 
flown. 

“We thought you were with him. Pomp said 
you would call him when you wanted ”... 

But I waited to hear no more. With a great 
fear at my heart I sprang up the stair to Frederic’s 
room. His chair was empty. I plucked back the 
curtains from the bed to find it empty, too. The 
fire had died away, and the room was so dark I 
stumbled twice around it before I was convinced 
that there was no one there. 

“ He is not here ! ” I cried to Colonel Stewart, 
and in a moment they all came swarming up, pale- 
faced, armed with candles. 

We ran up and down the hall — we flung open 
doors — we searched * — he could not have gone 
far . . . 

“ Here ! ” cried Ruth suddenly. “ Here I ” 

He was in her room half lying on the window- 
seat. He seemed gazing out over the garden — at 
the bower where we had sat I — but when I raised 
his head I found his eyes were closed. 

They took him from me — they bore him to his 
room — and I went blindly out into the night, like 
Cain, to fling myself face downward on the grass 
and curse myself. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


AND LAST 

How long a time went by I know not — I was 
in an abyss of woe so black that night and day 
had been alike to me, but at last I heard a voice 
calling, — a voice that reached me even in hell. 

“ Stewart ! ” she called ; and again, “ Stewart I ” 

Had it been any other, I had crawled away 
and hid somewhere — but she — my whole soul 
turned to her for comfort. 

“ Stewart ! ” 

“ Yes, dear Ruth ! ’’ 

She came to me quickly across the grass and, sat 
down beside me and flung her arms about me. 

“ Oh, my dear,” she cried, “ you must be brave I 
You can be brave, I know, sweetheart ! ” 

“ But a murderer, Ruth ! ” I groaned. “ My 
brother’s slayer ! ” and I felt across my brow, cer- 
tain, almost, that God had set his mark there. 

“ Not that ! ” she cried, and held me close. 
“ Not that, dear heart ! He is asking for you, 
Stewart.” 

“ Asking for me ? He is not dead, then ? ” 

Oh, what a weight was lifted from heart and 
brain ! 

“ He is not dead, then, Ruth ? 




V 


322 


THE HERITAGE 


“ No,” she said, “ not dead.” 

But there was something in her voice that bound 
the chains again about me. 

“ And he is asking for you, Stewart. You must 
go to him at once.” 

“ Yes, at once ! ” I said, and struggled to my 
feet. 

She led me up the steps — along the hall — to 
the door. 

“ Frederic ! ” 

He was lying back among the pillows smiling 
up at me — the others were all there, but I saw 
only him — smiling up at me, the light in his face, 
the joy ! 

“ Dear boy I ” 

I flung myself down beside the bed and seized 
his hand and covered it with the bitterest tears I 
ever wept. 

“ Dear boy ! And it is well with you ? ” 

I knew what he meant — 

“ Well — yes. But with you — oh, Frederic ! ” 

“It is well with me, also, Stewart,” he said 
gently. “ Oh, but I have been glad this day ! I 
saw — » from the window — I knew you would not 
care if I looked on ! ” 

“ Care ! ” 

“ But there was one thing more I hoped to look 
upon before ” — 

He paused a moment, and I looked up at him — 
at the shining eyes — 

“ Perhaps,” he said hesitatingly, “ I might, even 
yet — but it is much to ask, Stewart.” 


AND LAST 


323 


“ Ask it, Frederic.” 

“ If I might see my brother wedded,” he said 
softly, “ see him safe home at last — anchored ” — 

Oh, what a little thing. And I would have torn 
out my heart for him ! 

“ You shall see it ! ” I cried. “ Kuth I ” 

“ Yes, dear.” 

“ You heard ? ” 

“ Yes, I heard,” and she came and stood beside 
me. 

“ And you consent ? ” 

“ If you wish it, Stewart.” 

“ I do wish it,” I said. “ Mr. Harrison is 
here ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And you are ready ? ” 

“ Quite ready, dearest.” 

In how many other crises of my life have I 
found her quite ready — a staff to lean upon ! 

“ Colonel Stewart,” I said, turning to him, “ you 
will not refuse, I know ? ” But I had only to look 
into his face to read his answer. 

“ No,” he said, “ I will not refuse. ’T is some- 
what irregular,” he added, turning to Mr. Harrison, 
“ but I am sure you will see the pressing nature of 
the case, sir.” 

“ I do,” said Mr. Harrison, and came and stood 
before us ; but his voice was trembling as he began. 

“ Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together 
in the sight of God ”... 

I scarcely heard the words — I could only look 
down into those smiling eyes. 


324 


THE HERITAGE 


“Wilt thou have this woman . . . wilt thou love 
her” . . . 

“ Oh, yes ; dearest Ruth ! ” 

Only the smiling eyes and the joyous face ! 

He put her hand in mine, and I stumbled after 
him through a broad waste of words. Moments 
passed — he was praying. I had her hand again. 
“ Those whom God hath joined ”... 

Only the smiling lips — the peaceful face — 
peaceful ! 

“ Oh, Frederic, Frederic ! ” 

My arms were about him, my heart to his . . , 
But my dearest one bent over me and drew me 
away softly, tenderly, to the shelter of her breast. 
For Frederic was not there. 









(Cftc Biber^ibe 

ElectrotyPed and printed by H. O. Houghton &• Co. 
Cambridge, Mass., U.S. A. 











SEP 101902 



*. % 


1 COPY DEL. TO CAT. OlV. 
SEP. 10 1902 • 






r*-> ■ 
v* '* - 

; • i/". 



» 


. » I 







if 


I 





■f ’ 


I 


I 


♦ f • 


L 


• V 


* 


*• • I 


f 


> 




< 4 



L- v . 


t • I 






'•w:- 



/ . 


1, 


i4^‘ 'v 



1 ' 


y 


* 




' / 


• T» 




w«» 





^ ’.JL 


( 




s 




fi 




J 




^ % 









. - 1 


^'Z 




t 




iv V V' ^ ^ • ' 

?^:y\t - V-, 




^ 'f# 


.. \(i i^.-- y 


> > A 





« t 


"'1% 


A > ^ * ‘ 


.'•-O' » 


* ^ 


'*• ^ 

5»! V • 


v** * • 

- . > 

N* 


*- 


SE!: 



s . 


r ' 






I*’’*'* *. 




• ■ • ‘‘Tj* '> ;•,■./ < / 

K •* <* ' • '• 

1 ^ - K ^ '• 

V ^ 7 . ,-.•' «■•'•» . 




•i ■ '^- 



. I *• ■ • 

1 1 

•, ■ S“^-j r-; :....v - -.. . 

% * f 

J. .%■ '“li'^s 


^ ' V ♦ 




f . u<- k ' . * '-V‘JV**.^'i ^ - . • Mjw ^ '1 if.*> ^ IfflE 

. . ^’V - !.*.;■ :]M-v ] in 


!•■; 
v.« ^ 


’ • 


\ 


• . ». 


•/ • 




> 

f 


*K 7 




\ I 

- .VCn 








e 




r 





* 


K 


^ ti' 




• •*, 


r r. 


»*l 




■ . I •' ’■■ r • iV*» ^ 

' ' -' ■ ■ •■■ 'v. 


r ' . . ,V^’ 


“r- ' v’' • -X *.M. '•' ^ -'• 

i-r ^ ...r. .^: r .V , * . 

T • » /•*.. «| 

■.•r; .••■■ -..Y r...- , ,■ % 



s 


A'?,v 


i‘V-: 

I ^ 'h 


;i 



-/ V 


I 


< \ 


^ ' 

• > J 


r 

i * 


j 

4 i. 


•' %. 

; .•iv 


V,V-; 

■M*- >.'■ 

/^r. \ V-- 

’■ ■ ■' - i4 v^. ■ ■ ■ 




■’■ :-.'-'II;-5,f;|T 


/ i .r 



J 

• *’i 


• ’f\ 


I . * 



/ 

» ^ 


'■^C 

'.f ' vg* *»•*? , i^- 











vA- :y 


' Af i 

Ll ’ ^ J » >-* 







